Ghosts
by RingwraithYJLOVER
Summary: There was more to Dick Grayson than meets the eye. He had a history. He had lost friends and tried to forget the pain. Unfortunately, life has a way of coming full circle, and the curiosity of the other members of the Bats - starting with Damian - is not helping. Beginning is kind of a prologue. T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this for a while on my computer. Then I had a what-the-heck moment and decided to publish it.**

 **Don't know where this came from. It's just something to help me get over my writer's block. I've always felt like there was something more to Dick Grayson too, like maybe he was so happy because laughing is better than crying. And I was in a funk about no YJ.**

 **Combined, this idea popped into my head. Not strictly a crossover, it just includes both fandoms, so I figured I'd add the Batman fandom. On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

Dick stared into the flames. He was at the back of Wayne Manor, far enough from it that the lights from the Manor didn't reach him. He was near the woods, but still far enough away. Years ago, he had found this old fire pit back here when he was younger.

It had been nothing but a raised metal pit. (It still was). There were log benches around it, but they had been in a state of disrepair. He had thought it looked sad and lonely, so with a little work he got it working again. It hadn't been used in years, but eventually after he fixed it him and Bruce had lots of campfires out here.

Barbara would come sometimes, along with his other friends, and they even got Alfred out here on a few rare occasions. Very rare. He used to love it whenever that happened. The fire pit held so many memories. After he left, he hadn't thought about it until he came across it the other day chasing after Titus (he had escaped out the back door - darn dog).

Wayne Manor was on sort of a hill, so you couldn't see the fire pit from the back door, which was at the bottom of a sort of hill. That was why he had never noticed it in the first place.

When, by some miracle, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Damian, Babs, Bruce, and he were all at Wayne Manor for a three-night stay, he got the brilliant idea to do another campfire. To celebrate (as sad as it sounds) all of them being under the same roof without killing each other. It was supposed to be on the last night. This night.

The others didn't come. He was the only one out here.

With Dick alone, it made him think of how the last campfire was when he was thirteen. Years and years ago. He was twenty-two now. Jason was nineteen. Tim was seventeen. Damian, whom Dick took care for a year when he was twenty-one and Bruce was MIA, was eleven. Babs was his age. Steph was seventeen. Cass was eighteen.

None of them had ever been to a campfire here. They never got the chance. Now that they had one, they didn't take it.

The fire crackled. Dick should've expected none of them would stay for the campfire. He didn't know why he bothered. He didn't know why he didn't give up hope. He suspected it was because of his background. He was taught to never give up on family, no matter how tempting they make it.

A breeze made the leaves on the ground rustle. It was fall, and the trees were changing color and losing their leaves. Dick had on a black hoodie and jeans with some brown hiking boots. The wind ruffled his black hair, a little shorter than his usual look. Shorter on the sides, longer on the top so he had bangs hanging over his forehead.

Dick had been feeling nostalgic when he got it. He sighed. By now, at least half of them were out the door. Maybe more. And they definitely weren't heading here.

He didn't blame them. He wasn't exactly on the best terms with any of them. Jason - well, he wasn't on good terms with anyone, except perhaps Tim, Alfred, and Leslie. That didn't stop Dick from trying even after all the times Jason pushed him away.

Tim - Dick betrayed him. Dick could relate to that. He only wished he could've explained it to Tim better why he choose Damian as Robin. Tim was still his brother. Dick loved all his brothers, and he tried to spend time with all of them. Unfortunately, they weren't exactly keen to spend time with him.

He knew what they thought of him as. Annoying. A nuisance. An idiot. A huggable, too sensitive little kid who loved to freely. He knew that a part of them wondered how he was a hero.

A few times, Dick knew he would get through to them, but they' push him out just as quickly as he'd get in. It was getting tiring. He continued his mental checklist. Cass - the girl he considered his sister was too strict, and she had a tight schedule. She couldn't be bothered by something like a campfire, especially with a family who tried and nearly succeeded in killing each other multiple times each month, if not week.

It all depended on whether or not they were in the same city. And Cass herself, while she wanted a family, just wasn't the best at interacting with people. In fact, most of them lacked social grace. Steph - Dick hoped this girl, his other "sister" would show. If she did, she'd probably be dragging Cass with her.

She reminded him the most of himself in a way, but at the same time she was completely her own person. He half expected her to be here the most out of all of them, but clearly she didn't want to be here any longer than she had to. That was the difference between him and her, he supposed. He refused to give up on this family. Steph had already given up.

She was never technically adopted by Bruce, too. More of she became part of the Bats through her becoming Spoiler, dating Tim, and being trained by Barbara, who she shared an apartment with. He was fairly certain Cass crashed there whenever she came back from traveling.

Bruce - Dick and Bruce haven't really talked for years without the other getting mad eventually. Sure, they could work together just fine. To the outside observer, one who didn't know them when they were Batman and Robin, they fought together almost as well as they did when they had been Batman and Robin.

But they had lost that special something that made them really formidable. You would have to have seen them fight when they were Batman and Robin, Dick knew, to understand. He doubted they would ever get it back.

Damian - Dick knew it was too much to hope that the kid would be here. Damian was too closed off, and hadn't really trusted Dick ever since he moved back to Bludhaven after Bruce came back. Still, he thought . . . Dick sighed. It was too much to hope. Yet he did anyway.

His pity party was interrupted when a snapping sound was heard. Someone had stepped on a twig. A curse was soon followed. The young voice was very familiar.

"Damian?" Dick asked in disbelief. He twisted around from where he had been sitting slouched on the ground against the log bench.

Damian scoffed, trying to cover his nervousness and embarrassment. "Don't act so surprised, Grayson. You did, after all, invite everyone to a campfire."

Dick stared dumbfounded. Damian looked awkward and slightly out of place just standing there.

"You came."

"Did you expect monkeys to fly? I merely came because you looked like an idiot sitting out here alone." Damian said.

Dick didn't bother pointing out that you couldn't see him from the back door, only the shadows of the fire dancing on the trees in the night, the flames flickering.

He gestured eagerly next to him. "C'mon, sit next to me. I'll show you how to do a s'more."

Curiosity got the better of Damian. Last year, Dick had been too busy to even try to take Damian for a campfire, or teach him about the wonders of s'mores. Plus, they hadn't been living in Wayne Manor, they had been living in the penthouse in the city.

"S'mores?" Damian asked cautiously sitting next to Dick, a good three feet between them.

As usual, Dick ignored the personal space, scooting closer. Damian was secretly glad Dick ignored his personal space, however much it sometime irked him. Dick, out of all the family was the one who took Damian in. Adopted him as his brother, and completely ignored him, bulldozing past his walls.

For Damian, a boy who was trained since birth to be an assassin, it was nice to know that someone cared. Not that he'd ever tell Dick that. Or that the real reason he came out here was because he missed spending time with Dick. Going from Dick Grayson to Bruce Wayne was a huge adjustment, and Damian couldn't help but feel hurt when Dick left.

Left him. So he did what he usually did. He attacked what hurt him, except this time it didn't make him feel only made him miss Dick hugging him and calling him little brother, telling him that eventually, it'll be all right. Having someone there to catch him when he made a mistake.

So when Dick scooted closer to Damian, he didn't lean away.

Damian leaned toward him, and rested his head against him. Dick just smiled and explained s'mores. Afterwards, they spent a half hour attempting to make a s'more. Quite a few of Damian's s'mores caught fire, to which he always panicked at. Internally, of course, but Dick could tell.

Even though he had been with the Bats for a year and a half (most of which he spent with Dick) Damian still panicked inwardly at a mistake. He was used to being punished when he made a mistake. After all, in the League of Assassins there could be no mistakes.

Dick just laughed at one of the flaming marshmallows that flew off of Damian's stick when he waved it around frantically, attempting to put the fire out. Luckily, it flew into the fire. This only caused Dick to laugh harder. Damian found himself joining in with a small smile. On another attempt, the flaming marshmallow flew off into the grass.

Since the ground was damp, it didn't catch fire, though Dick and Damian both stomped on it, Dick chuckling quietly. A small smile was on Damian's face. Another flaming marshmallow flew right at Dick, and he caught it . . . with his mouth. Damian gaped. Dick ate a flaming marshmallow.

He suspected the man would be able to eat anything, but now he knew for certain. Dick just chuckled at Damian's expression. Dick got out a marshmallow and calmly roasted it afterwards, making it golden. Damian demanded that Dick show him that, determined to get it right. Dick had to explain that everyone liked their marshmallows differently.

Damian didn't care. He just didn't want the marshmallow to be on fire. The first marshmallow Damian didn't set on fire was severely burnt, but it wasn't flaming, so the boy took that as a good sign.

Damian ate it, and decided it was wonderful. They roasted more marshmallows, occasionally snacking on a Hershey bar, graham cracker, or a plain marshmallow. Damian blamed the sugar, but he chucked a marshmallow at Dick on impulse. Dick dodged, but a second one got in his hair.

Pretty soon, they were having a marshmallow war. Thankfully, or unfortunately, Dick had gotten many marshmallow bags, around fourteen. (Don't judge him, they had been on sale). They used two bags just teaching Damian to roast marshmallows. They ate a whole lot more.

Eventually, they settled down. The small smile on Damian's face was a little bigger, almost not invisible anymore. Dick had eaten another smoking marshmallow when Damian had gotten upset that he burned it. Dick claimed it was perfect, and ate it.

Finally, Damian asked a question he'd been dying to ask. "Grayson, where'd you learn to swallow flaming marshmallows?"

Dick responded without hesitation. "From the circus. The fire-eater taught me. We used to have these campfires on the last night in a town. I always loved to try and learn the other acts. At a campfire once when we were outside of this town . . . "

Dick's voice trailed off. With jolt, Damian realized that he had never heard a story about Dick's childhood. Sure he knew the basic story, grew up in circus, parents were killed, adopted by Bruce Wayne, and became Robin.

For the first time ever, it was occurring to Damian that there may be more to the story. That there was so much about Dick that he didn't know. Damian was curious. Dick always told Damian - and the others - about what he did as Robin, but it was always with him fifteen or above.

His younger years as Robin were left alone. Just like his years with his parents - his actual parents, the kind who loved and cared for him, with a mother who didn't want him to become the greatest assassin - were left alone. Dick went silent. The expression on his face, or at least the half Damian could see was unreadable.

Damian found that unusual. Dick was always talking, always moving. Dick never took anything seriously, found trouble in the most unlikely situations, and got kidnapped constantly. There were times, though, where Damian wondered if it was all an act. If Dick was capable of more than he let on. If he purposefully found trouble.

If he let himself be kidnapped and made to look helpless. Because sometimes, Dick would get this look on his face. Sometimes, in a fight, Dick would throw a move that a day before he claimed he could barely do. And in the fight, he did it perfectly.

Sometimes, it seemed like Dick acting like a carefree idiot was an act. Sometimes, dare Damian say it, he seemed smart and came up with a plan that made sense. Damian wondered just how much of an act it was.

Damian spoke. "Well, Grayson, will you tell me?"

Dick looked at Damian. He yawned. "Maybe some other day. It's getting late. We've spent the whole night out here, I think it's almost six-thirty in the morning."

Damian tried not to feel disappointed. His curiosity only grew. They went inside. Dick had decided to stay the night, since today was a Saturday and he didn't have work Sunday or Monday.

* * *

 **I promise I'll get to the YJ part. I'm just kind of building up suspense and Damian's curiosity. The story itself might by only four chapters, most of which are written. I need to finish the second one, and the fourth or fifth one. I'm warning you now, I don't have a real plan for this story. Only ideas.**

 **Review.**


	2. Curiosity

**Please see the bottom for an explanation. I can't really say - type - anything without giving some of the story away.**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Duh.**

* * *

Dick stood waiting in the parking lot. He was here to pick up Damian as a favor to Bruce on his Monday off from. Normally, he might complain, but it was Damian. Tim was driving Jason to the latter's place, since Jason had gotten his license suspended due to speeding. Frankly, Dick was surprised Jason was here, even if he was completing high school as a favor to Alfred.

Steph and Cass were driving together and likely hanging out together afterwards. He half hoped that . The bell rang, and Gotham Junior opened its doors. Students came out. Most went to the buses, but a few went to the lawn in front of the parking lot where their ride was waiting. On the other side of the lot, across from Gotham Junior, Gotham Academy was letting out.

Gotham Elementary (Dick seriously wondered who came up with the names. They clearly had no creativity.) let out shortly after words. Damian was stalking towards Dick, an impatient look on his face. Dick silently chuckled.

At the same time Damian reached him, a familiar voice rang out, "Well, well, well, if it isn't little Dickie Grayson. Finally get the job of butler from the old fart?"

"Matt, please go away." Dick said politely. There was annoyed undertone to it.

Matt Evans. His tormenter since Dick came to Gotham Junior and skipped two grades. Technically, it was a grade, but since he didn't meet the age requirement for fourth grade, it was two. He turned nine in December, but until then he had been an eight year old in a room full of ten and eleven year olds.

The only other nine year old had been Babs, who had also skipped a grade. She was older than him by three months. She had made the requirement for fourth grade, but then she skipped a grade making her young too. Barbara was also new, since she had moved to Gotham Elementary from a local public school. The two of them got along well, and became friends.

Damian reached them. "Well, Grayson, are we-"

"And who's this? Is it Bruce's kid?" Matt Sloan said, surveying Damian with slight interest.

Damian tt-ed. "If you are asking whether or not Bruce Wayne is my father, the answer is yes."

Matt's eyes lit up. Damian had passed his judgement. Matt based everyone off of the families they came from. Since Damian was, by blood, Gotham elite, he had passed Matt's inspection. Dick internally heaved a sigh.

Damian was baffled.

Matt looked at him in pity. "I'm so sorry you have to hang out with this circus freak. If you want, I'll take you home. I'm sure you and my brother will get along just fine."

Damian felt anger work its way into his system. "Circus freak?"

Dick sensed Damian's anger. "Matt, we really need to get go-"

"Did I say you can talk to me, gypsy trash?" Matt asked angrily. "Shut up."

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose before watching the train wreck in progress.

Damian felt even angrier. "Don't talk to him like that!"

"Like what?" Matt said, becoming angry. It was clear that Damian and Matt weren't going to get along. "Like the worthless trash he is? If it wasn't for Bruce Wayne, he would've been thrown away years ago."

"Matt, please, we have to leave and you're making a scene-" Dick tried to say, but was cut off.

"Yeah, leave, that's all you ever do. Run away back to mommy and daddy. Oh wait, that's right, they left you because they were ashamed of their worthless son. They didn't want you, they were so ashamed they died to get away from you." Matt said, sneering at Dick.

Damian was now ready to attack Matt and run him through with a sword. He looked at Dick, expecting the overly emotional man to be crying. To his surprise, Dick's face was blank. It was calm. Dick put a hand on Damian's shoulder, gripping it tightly. Damian hid his wince. It kind of hurt.

Dick steered Damian to his car, calling out, "Goodbye, Matt! It _wasn't_ a pleasure to see you again!"

* * *

When they got back to the Manor, Damian was beyond mad.

"Why didn't you do anything?!" Damian yelled, frustrated. The yelling attracted another member of the house.

Bruce watched as Damian screamed and yelled, cursing someone with the last name Evans.

When Damian stopped to take a breath, Dick spoke. "Damian, please calm down. It doesn't matter, okay?"

"Doesn't matter?" Damian hissed. "What does matter is that you let him insult you! You didn't defend yourself!"

"Damian," Dick spoke calmly. "He is a civilian. We do not harm civilians, even if we have the ability to."

He had a vague sense of déjà vu, and realized those were nearly the exact words Bruce said to him when Dick asked if he could beat up bullies. Bruce realized this too. He raised an eyebrow.

Damian cursed and stormed upstairs. Dick threw his hands up. Bruce raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously.

He picked up his keys. "I have to go back to Bludhaven, I'll see you later, Bruce."

Bruce internally sighed, then nodded. Bruce walked away and Dick went upstairs to pack his bag again.

Damian listened to Dick as he went up the stairs and closed the door to his room to pack. He wondered why the heck Dick wasn't affected even the tiniest bit by the insults. With a feeling of guilt, Damian realized that he had called and said all of the things Matt had said.

But hearing it from Matt . . . it felt different. Only he was allowed to insult Dick like that. At least most of the time he didn't mean it . . . and he had gotten better, really! Once again, Damian wondered about Dick's past. Dick had always seemed like he'd be popular and a jock in school. Why did Matt treat him like scum? Jealousy?

* * *

Hours later, Damian was attempting to solve the large mystery that was Dick's past, or at least the parts he didn't tell them. To start, he had been tempted to go into Dick's room, but eventually decided asking Alfred for Dick's school yearbooks wouldn't hurt.

Alfred came back with seven year books. Damian was surprised. He expected more. When he asked Alfred about why there were no more year books, Alfred explained that before Dick was taken in by Bruce, he was homeschooled. Therefore, no year books. Damian headed to the rarely used living room.

Before he really started looking at them, Damian looked and saw some awards were in the front and back covers. It looked like the year books went from fifth grade to twelfth grade. He looked closely at the awards, pieces of tough paper with inscriptions tucked into the front and back of the year books.

To his surprise, most of them were mathlete awards. That through Damian for a loop. Dick was a mathlete? Somehow, he couldn't wrap his head around it. Sure, Dick could be smart when he wanted to, but a mathlete?

Damian had always pictured Dick as an athlete or something in school, not a mathlete. Furthermore, it looked like Grayson had at least skipped a grade. And he was scrawny. Like, Damian knew that Dick had a lean, muscular frame, along with the acrobatic grace, but in his year book pictures . . .

He was scrawny. There was no other way to put it. He looked like the class nerd, and judging by the evidence that he skipped a grade and was a mathlete, he was. His slicked back black hair looked stupid and shorter than usual. Damian frowned. He can't have been popular. He had always pictured Dick as being popular and a jock in school. He wasn't.

What with the goody-two-shoes he was, Damian even expected Dick to have a perfect attendance award. He didn't. Now, Damian found out that Dick was a scrawny class nerd, and - he looked closer at one of the certificates, co-captain of the mathletes.

"Hey, Demon. Whatcha got there?" An all too familiar and cheerful voice said.

It was Stephanie. After the Strange incident, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Tim, and surprisingly Jason had decided to stay for a couple of days. Jason just claimed it was to watch the energetic Dick suffer from boredom. The bandages around Dick's head were a chilling reminder of how close he came to kicking the bucket and ending up six feet under.

The public excuse was a motor cycle accident were Dick drove late at night and in his tired state drove off the edge of the road tumbling into the grass/mud and banging his head against a small tree by the side of the road.

"Leave me, Brown." Damian said.

She didn't listen. "Are those . . . year books?" She looked confused. "Those don't look like any year books I know. Oh! The dates on them are older!"

Damian stayed silent. He closed his eyes as she continued talking.

"Wait a minute! I've seen Barbara looking at his one." Stephanie picked up Dick's freshman year book.

"Brown! Give it back! These are not mine. They are Grayson's. I am merely, ah, borrowing them." Damian said.

"These are Dick's year books?!" Stephanie exclaimed loudly.

She attracted the attention of Cass, Jason, and Tim, who were somehow all upstairs without killing each other. The fact that the Manor was so big helped. Tim walked in. The others wandered in after him, Jason looking extremely bored (not good) and Cass looking neutral, as usual. A curious glint was in her eyes, though.

"Did I hear you say Dick's year books?" he asked Stephanie curiously.

She nodded, jerking her head at Damian. "Demon over here was looking at them for some reason."

Everyone now looked at Damian. Irritated, he snapped, "What?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Why do you have his year books? And how did you get them?"

Now Damian rolled his eyes. "I got them from Pennyworth. As to why I require them . . . I was merely curious what Grayson's school years were like after we ran into an acquaintance of his from Gotham Academy."

"Shit, those really are his year books." Jason said, before smirking evilly. When did he get in here? "Give me that, Stephanie. Bet ya we can find some black mail on Golden Boy. What have ya got so far, Hell Spawn?"

Damian scowled at the nick name. He answered anyways, "Other than Grayson was a scrawny class nerd and co-captain of the mathletes, nothing. In addition, he's skipped at least one grade."

Everyone's mouths dropped, all of them thinking along the lines Damian was earlier.

"You're shitting me." Jason said in disbelief.

Damian frowned. "I assure you I am not. If you need any proof, look in the front cover of his freshman year book you grabbed, Todd. You will likely find mathlete certificates."

"No need, Jason."

Everyone jumped, but managed to hide it. They shifted as they turned to face Dick, who had entered unnoticed.

Dick continued, "Yes, I was a mathlete. I was a bit of a scrawny midget. And yes, I did skip a grade, technically two. Now, if I can have my year books back . . ."

Damian looked at Dick in surprise. Cass, Steph, and Jason reacted, too, in their own ways. None of them had noticed him walk into the room, which was odd, because Dick was usually the easiest of the Bats to hear walk into a room. And he just admitted to being a mathlete, a scrawny midget, and skipping a grade, but that didn't erase the doubt the others had.

Jason, still curious, opened the front of the freshman year book. Dick didn't bother stopping him, only gathered his other year books in a pile to take back to his room. When Jason opened the front cover and gaped at the mathlete certificates, along with Steph, Cass, and Tim who were staring in disbelief, a single envelope fell out unnoticed by them.

Damian frowned, picked it up. He opened it, and discovered that inside were pictures. He looked at the first one. There was a scrawny looking blue-eyed black-haired boy, along with what looked like a younger Barbara. There was another girl with blonde hair and grey eyes. She looked a little Asian, but it wasn't very strong. More like just a hint of it. All of them wore the standard GA uniform.

(Huh, so the uniform hasn't changed since Dick was in high school.)

They were sitting on the courtyard wall of Gotham Academy. From Tim talking about it, he knew that they sometimes ate lunch out there when it was warmer outside. Damian assumed that the boy was Dick. He looked like a younger version of the man he knew, his face more boyish. His eyes seemed brighter, as well as his smile.

Younger Grayson and Gordon were sitting on the wall laughing. Their lunches were on either side of them, with a space in the middle. The other girl was on the ground laughing. Her lunch was still on the wall. Barbara was on her left, Dick was on her right.

It was clear that the other girl had fallen off the wall, but rather than cry or complain, they were all laughing. Laughing at some long forgotten joke. Grayson was talking to the others, insisting he was telling the truth and the certificates were not forgeries.

He was smiling and joking getting the others to crack a smile and go along with it and the others were insisting they were fakes and lies. Dick had that way with people to get them to go along with anything. He could even get quiet Cass to talk.

Eventually, they left claiming they had things to do. All the while, Damian just stared at the photo, like the people in it could give him the answers he wanted.

Well, maybe they could . . . He turned towards Dick, who was still laughing under his breath, smiling.

Damian frowned. "Grayson, who is this?"

Damian pointed to the other girl. Dick looked to see who he was pointing at.

The smile on Dick's face disappeared when he saw the photo. He, of course, knew who the girl was. It was Artemis, the girl who was like his older sister. The girl who was in love with Wally, his sort of older brother at the time. And who Wally was in love with as well.

He saw his thirteen-year-old self in the picture. For a second, he wondered where Damian got that picture. Then he saw the envelope in his hand. Dick knew that envelope, remembered putting those pictures in there.

He put them in there because he couldn't stand how painful it was to look at them.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "She was, ah, a friend." _She was like my sister_ , he wanted to say. But he didn't say it. "She was in the grade above me, and when I was a sophomore and she was a junior . . . She died." _She was murdered._

"How? And when was this picture taken?" Damian questioned.

"She liked to ride her motorcycle"- _She loved to ride her motorcycle, she always rode it to school the minute she could drive. The school disapproved, but she'd do it anyway, there were no rules against it.-"_ And one day, early in her junior year, she was riding her bike and wasn't careful enough. She didn't make it. As for when this picture was taken, it was my freshman year, and her sophomore year."

Damian nodded, digesting this information. He looked back at the photo, before Dick took the photo and the envelope. He put it on top of the year books. Damian wanted to say more, but it looked like Dick wasn't going to talk. It really surprised Damian was that Dick looked like he didn't want to talk.

So he stayed quiet as Dick left the room.

* * *

Dick sighed as he put his yearbooks away. He held the envelope in his hand. In it, he knew, were multiple pictures of him, Artemis, and them in general. Dick hadn't thought about them in years. Not because he didn't want to, but because it was too painful.

Way too painful.

Dick knew that Damian was curious, and sooner or later he was going to find out. Dick knew he would have to tell all of them. But he didn't know if he could. Some secrets are buried so deep that you simply can't reveal them. There's some you want to keep, some you have to keep, some can't/shouldn't keep, and others you're not ready to say out loud.

There are the ones kept so long that you forget it was even a secret. Everyone forgot them. Dick himself hadn't thought about them in years. He tried not to.

Dick shut his eyes. He needed to get out of his room. He needed . . . Dick didn't know what he needed. He grabbed his phone and his earbuds. Dick went to his window. Wayne Manor had four floors. The rooms of Dick and the others were on the second floor.

Dick knew that you went up the main stair case. Bruce's room was at the end of the hall on the left. Dick's room was at the end of the hall on the right, across from Bruce's room. Tim was the room next to Bruce. He got that room after he always used it when Dick watched him. Barbara had the room next to Tim. She was over often enough that she claimed a room. Next to Barbara was Stephanie's room.

Jason was the room next to Dick. Cass was the room next to Jason. And Damian was the room next to Cass. Between Cass and himself, they more or less kept Damian and Jason in line. No one knew where Alfred slept.

Dick's room was a corner room, with windows on the outer two walls. The window on the wall to the left of his door, Dick discovered, was great for getting onto one of the Manor's many ledges. When he was younger, Dick loved to go out the ledge and climb on the Manor's ledges. It also made a great pathway to the roof, Dick's favorite spot in possibly the whole Manor.

Outside his room was a huge tree, and in addition to finding a great pathway to the roof, he found a great way to sneak out. The second window directly in front of the door only showed the tips of the branches.

Dick knew if you went out the first window and onto the ledge, you could follow the ledge to the right. On the outside corner of his room, the branches were much closer, and thick enough to support his weight as he launched himself at the tree.

This is what Dick did now, and he always landed on the thickest part of the branch, close to the trunk. Sure enough, a perfect landing. Dick climbed down. He started walking, and eventually ended up in Gotham, wet and cold. No one glanced at him twice.

He was wearing jeans, beat up sneakers, and a worn blue sweatshirt that had the hood pulled up. The stupid bandages were wrapped around his head. Dick wandered the streets aimlessly until of their own accord his feet took him to an old phone booth that had not been used for years. In more ways than one. It wasn't an ordinary phone booth.

Dick stared at it.

He made a choice and stepped into it. He pressed a few buttons, and there was a flash of light.

* * *

 **Okay, so the whole Dick-getting-shot-in-the-head thing wasn't a hallucination, dear reader. I did actually mention it, and originally intended it to be the second part of the story. I even have most of it written, I just need to finish the reactions.**

 **But then I realized, after the fluff/sadness of the first chapter that it would be kind of cruel/shocking to go right to the bad horrible stuff and have Dick get shot in the head. So I decided to take this finished portion and make it the next chapter.**

 **Yet when I was making the edits, I found I really didn't want to leave out the whole getting shot thing out. Instead of making it a chapter, I just mentioned it in passing. Kind of. Let me know if you would like me to post the chapter about it as a separate yet connected one-shot.**

 **Please review.**


	3. Strange Meetings

**Ha, yeah, wasn't so sure I could update this so soon after the last one but I felt that those to chapters go together and you can't have one without the other. Mostly because it was originally one chapter, but I felt it was too long.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

 _ **RECOGNIZED: ROBIN B-01**_

With a feeling of slight shock, Dick realized that he never changed his name to Nightwing. He never got the chance. He was tempted to, but he got a feeling of nostalgia. He let it be. With a heavy heart, Dick looked around at Mount Justice. Or at least the inside of it.

Known to a select few as the Cave. Tears pricked his eyes as a feeling of sadness swept over him. This place. This was where it had all started. It was the original headquarters of the Justice League. Then it became something else. Then it became nothing, an empty shell for people who will never walk its halls or secret passages again.

It was forgotten. Dick walked into the living room/kitchen area. After all these years, the faint scent of burned cookies lingered. Dick smiled sadly as tears began to blur his vision as he thought of _them_. He sunk down onto the floor, his back to the couch.

He had not been to this place in years. The silence seemed overwhelmingly. Heh, whelm.

" _You're overwhelmed, Freeze was underwhelmed, why isn't anyone ever just whelmed?"_

 _"What is it with you and this whelm thing?"_

Dick chuckled, half-crying. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear the echoes of what once was here. He missed them. So much. Now he could only hear echoes of them, of all the things they went through, good and bad, on duty or not. Everything was just too much at once and it felt like the world was spinning and spiraling out of control.

" _Hello Megan!"_

" _Red Arrow was so wrong-" "-this team thing-" "-might just work out."_

" _Feeling the aster."_

" _ROBIN!?" *cackles in the background*_

" _My cookies!"_

" _I didn't want my best pal questioning my objectivity." "Dude, that's what a best pal's for."_

" _Symbiosi. Together."_

" _ARTEMIS!"_

" _That's not me. I don't wanna be_ _ **the**_ _Batman anymore."_

" _I feel so silly. Who knew a Martian could be vulnerable to a human virus?" "Uh, H.G. Wells?"_

" _Is it always like this?" A little while later, "It_ _ **is**_ _always like this!"_

" _Get trought, or get dead!"_

" _Human customs elude me."_

He could still see them. Picture them clearly. Hear their laughter echo in the halls. See them smiling. Hear their voices.

" _Wall-man, huh. What, exactly, are your powers?"_

" _Let go of her, you darn dirty ape!"_

" _I feel naked, and not in a fun way."_

" _No-o-o-o, nothing odd going on here."_

" _A moment of silence for our, ah, absent comrade." "Poor Wally."_

" _Oh, I am_ _ **not**_ _nearly drowning three missions in a row!"_

" _Be as chalant as you want."_

" _I HATE MONKEYS!"_

" _I've always wanted an earth sister."_

" _Aww, man, I knew we'd be the last ones here."_

Dick squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered what used to be here. The smell of burning cookies, the melody of laughter, the shouts of anger and the chases that followed. The sounds of a wolf, the whirl of a mechanical sphere, movie nights, video game marathons. All of it was gone now.

" _WALLACE RUDOPH WEST!" "DON'T KILL ME?!"_

" _What do you mean you accidently gave them pot brownies?" "Well it's not my fault they ate them."_

" _You get to explain all of this-"*gestures to flaming warehouse* "-to Batman." *laughs*_

" _Move over! You're hoggin' the TV!"_

" _Not if you kidnap me." "Oh, she's gonna fit in great."_

" _Sweet! Souvenir!"_

" _Quit touching yourself!"_

" _Amnesia, remember? I forgot how truly annoying you are." "Oh, like you're the goddess of congeniality?"_

" _Can I keep him?"_

" _ **DON'T**_ _CALL US SIDEKICKS!"_

It seemed so unfair. No one remembered them. Young Justice, better known as the Team, was forgotten. A painful memory that no one wanted to bring up. They were forgotten. They. Were. _**Forgotten.**_

Dick's teammates, his friends, his family, they were forgotten. Barely anyone knew they existed, and some people didn't know the truth about them because they were civilians. Some people will never know. They aren't meant to. But they still deserve to know.

" _But it never mattered. You aren't your family. You're one of us."_

" _We'll laugh about this someday."_

" _Secret."_

Others deserve to know. It's just painful to talk about. For everyone involved. Including the League members who knew the Team, even if they didn't have a protégé on the Team. Dick heard footsteps in the silence. He didn't bother getting up. Something about them was familiar.

" _Dick, what was that about?" "Nothing, Barbara, just being friendly to the new girl."_

" _My friends, you act as if I have been away for years when it has only been-" "Two months."_

 _*eye roll* "You're still my sister. I don't want you dead."_

" _I have to find the real Roy."_

" _He claims you're his 'blood sister' now."_

"So . . . You're here."

A familiar voice said. Dick knew that voice as well as he knew his own.

"I couldn't believe it when I had gotten the alert from the system I set up. I came back here a while ago, you know? I still come here sometimes. I set up the alert system just in case someone else came."

Wally West sat next to him. For who knows how long, they were silent, staring in front of each other. It felt right to have Wally here. To have someone who's been with him since the beginning.

" _Together, on our own, we forged something powerful. Important."_

" _It's KID FLASH, why is that so hard?"_

" _Well, maybe you'll feel more turbed when we kick your can!"_

" _The four of us."_

" _Why let them tell us what to do? It's simple. Get on board or get out of the way."_

" _I like your t-shirt."_

" _Stop it." "What?" "I can feel you glaring at each other."_

" _Feeling the aster."_

" _Pot, kettle. Have you met?"_

" _Well . . . Still not giving her the satisfaction!" "I can hear you!"_

Dick broke the silence. "Yeah. I'm here. I-I haven't been here since . . ." His voice trailed off. "Do you come here a lot?"

"I do." Wally said. "It's where I can think and no one will bother me. And it's one of the places I can be closest to her. Everywhere else . . . They're gone. It's like they never existed."

"Like they never mattered." Dick's voice broke.

Wally nudged him. "Dude, they matter to us."

"They do. Do you ever . . . miss them?" Dick asked, thinking it was a stupid question. Of course Wally would miss them.

"All the time. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if they were still alive. Then I remember that wishful thinking gets me nowhere." Answered Wally.

They both fell silent again, remembering. The silence became awkward as neither could think of something to say. After years of fighting, of placing blame, they were tired of it.

Suddenly, Dick burst into laughter. Everything seemed immensely funny all of a sudden. Wally started laughing along with him. Both of them were half-laughing, half-crying.

"It's like-like we're both eleven and thirteen again!" Dick choked out.

Wally fell sideways on the floor. "All's we need is Roy-joy telling us to cut the sappy crap before we make him vomit!"

The two looked at each other, falling silent at the mention of Roy. Then they started laughing and crying harder. It _was_ something Roy would do.

When they were both quiet again, with the occasional chuckle, Dick said, "Hey, Wally?" Wally turned to him. "I'm sorry for not being here. You're my brother, and I wasn't - I wasn't - "

Wally tried to reassure him. "Dude, it's okay. It's the big brother's job to take care of the little brother, and I wasn't there for you."

Dick gave a short laugh. "I remember telling Damian something similar after I-after I got-"

"Shot in the head?" Wally finished. "By the way, you're a jackass for that. Do you know how worried I was for that? We may not be the best friends like we were, but you're still my little brother. Which makes you my best bro. I have a right to worry."

Dick nodded guiltily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Wally decided to finish his sentence again. "Scare the shit outta me? Yeah, I know. Just don't . . . Don't do it again. Dick, just don't die, okay?"

Dick nodded.

After that, both of them fell silent once more. They started to think about everything, about what happened.

Dick . . . For once, he enjoyed being the little brother again. To have someone at his back, to fix his mistakes. Of course, he wouldn't trade Jason, Tim, or Damian for anything, but Wally . . . He had known Wally practically from the start. Wally was the one who was there for Dick after everything, and probably was one of the few people on the planet who knew everything about him.

Wally was happy that he got his little brother back. He knew that Dick had his own little brothers to take care of, but before he was an older brother he was Wally's little brother. Roy's little brother. Kaldur's little brother. Arty's little brother.

The little brother of the Team. Wally didn't want to see his little brother break down and fall apart.

Once, he made a promise to protect Dick with Roy and Kaldur. Later, Connor and Arty joined, along with M'Gann. The others never got a chance, and Zatanna was kind of his girlfriend so . . . Yeah. Now, it was only Wally left to fulfill that promise.

" _Be as chalant as you like."_

The Team . . . Everything had been going great.

" _I'm liking this Team thing more every day."_

 _"Red Arrow was -" "- so wrong." "This team thing -" "- might just work out."_

Wally supposed the only thing they did wrong was pose a major threat to the Light. So after New Year's, the Light began to take them out one by one. By the time Dick was fifteen, everyone but Wally and Dick were dead. And the Team started when Dick was thirteen.

Understandably, Batman went all over protective. So did the Flash and other Leaguers. Dick didn't like that. Neither were okay with it. Dick eventually ran away. He formed the Teen Titans with Raven, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Cyborg.

A short while later, Wally ran, too. He eventually joined the Titans. They couldn't stand each other in the Titans. They pretended they didn't know each other, and they fought practically every time they saw each other.

They looked at each other. It showed in their eyes they were thinking the same thing, and they could read each other's minds as if the mental link was still there. Without a word, both of them got up. They smiled sadly at scuff marks on the wall, or even a hole, remembering how it got there.

They walked down the hallways with the closed doors. They passed Kaldur's first. Then Superboy's. Then Wally's. Then Dick's. And lastly, Roy's. On the other side of the mountain, in a different hallway were another set of doors, this time with the doors on the right instead of the left.

They were Megan's, Artemis', Zatanna's, and Rocket's rooms. The silence seemed to weigh them down, thick and heavy. The sadness felt like a fog covering them. The story of Young Justice is a sad one, both Dick and Wally knew that, they were a part of it.

After New Year's when they defeated the Light and the Light decided to kill all of them, they started to fall. Artemis was the first to be killed. Her father, Sportsmaster, killed her mother one day when he broke into their apartment. She came after him, and he murdered her. They never found the body, they only got pictures of it curtesy of Sportsmaster.

It was just after Valentine's Day. Wally was heartbroken, and became catatonic. Green Arrow just went through the motions of each day. He was alive, but he was dead on the inside. They all were. Red Arrow had been shaken, but he continued his search for the original Roy Harper. Or as he called him, the real Roy.

The original Cheshire, who was Artemis' older sister Jade Ngyuen, found out. She came after Sportsmaster, and killed him. Then she disappeared.

" _Dad'll come after you." "Let 'im. I'll disappear, like the Cheshire Cat."_

The current Cheshire is a clone of the original. The clone was made because in order to find out if it was safe to clone someone, they needed a test subject, and they used the original Cheshire's DNA. Jade never found out about her clone. The clone got out, or was released, and acted like the original Cheshire, but was missing some major components of Jade's memory. And the nicer part of her personality. She was also slightly younger than the original Cheshire.

The sad thing was, they were starting to change Cheshire. She was becoming the equivalent of what an anti-hero was now. The fact that she cared for her little sister (Artemis) helped, and they eventually adopted her as a sort of honorary member. Cheshire had remained guarded a little, because of everything that had happened to her, but she had been coming around.

" _Haven't you learned anything? In this family, it's every girl for herself."_

Roy, Red Arrow, was next. He had been desperately searching for the original Roy Harper after learning he was a clone.

" _I was the mole?"_

In that time, he and Cheshire had grown to care for one another and he began to treat Artemis like a younger sister. When they saw each other. To any normal person, their sibling rivalry was a little overboard, but to the Team it was completely normal.

With Cheshire gone and a clone in her place, Roy tried to track down the original Cheshire by finding out where the clone came from. The romance between the two was a strange one, but it worked for them. Roy couldn't just let her disappear, he had to go find her. So he took a break from searching for the real Roy to search for the real Cheshire.

He tracked a lead down to somewhere in Tibet. Instead of finding the original Cheshire, he found the original Roy Arrow got the original Roy Harper out. He didn't get himself out. Red Arrow was overwhelmed, and they killed him. The baddies disposed of the body, not even letting them have what was left of Red Arrow.

The original Roy Harper later became known as Arsenal, and the blue hat he wore was actually once his clone Red Arrow's. If you looked at it closely, you could see the outline of letters advertising Star City's baseball team. Green Arrow had once taken Red Arrow to a baseball game and gotten him that hat.

Arsenal eventually met the Teen Titian's and joined them. Green Arrow didn't respond all that well to him, and Arsenal resented the fact that Oliver had given up on him. So, yeah, not a good relationship. Eventually, he met Cheshire. Or at least, the clone Cheshire, who happened to now be his age.

And, well, the rest is history for Cheshire and Arsenal. Now Arsenal had formed a group called the Outlaws with Red Hood and Starfire. Arsenal didn't know about the Team. Or Red Arrow. He just knew he had been on ice for a few years. He and Nightwing became pretty good friends when they were with the Titans.

Because he had been cryo-frozen, Arsenal hadn't aged, and he was freed about two years before joining the Titans, making him seventeen, nearly the same age as Robin. And the same physical age as Cheshire's clone.

Superboy was next. Match had been released, and the fight that ensued was devastating. They ended up in a Lex Corp facility. Later, Dick, Wally, and the others found out that was where they were intended to end up. Later was too late, though. They couldn't save Superboy.

Luthor unveiled hidden pockets of kryptonite he had in the room, weakening and leaving Match and Superboy vulnerable. Because of the fight, the building had been evacuated. Luthor blew it up. Since he was left vulnerable by the kryptonite, Superboy died along with Match, and his body became ashes.

The Team treated Superman a little coldly afterwards. Superboy and Superman hadn't been on the best of terms still, despite starting to try at New Year's. Superboy's death happened in April, a few months after the death of Artemis. It was another devastating blow to the Team.

M'Gann became prone to crying at every little thing, and kept the mind link up at all times to know where everyone was. It was always a faint presence in the back of their minds. She became as depressed as she was during the failsafe incident, except she wasn't afraid to use her powers.

Rocket was next. One of Ivo's robots did it. At that point, they had given up trying to pretend they weren't coming after the protégés. The mentors were frantic. As a result, they were being overprotective, and they argued with their protégés.

On one such fight, Rocket had flown out to the Grand Canyon alone. They knew this because she had called Zatanna to let her know where she was going, saying she needed to cool down. Icon had wanted her to stop being Rocket. The two had a fight about it. Rocket refused to stop.

Ivo sent his robot, and Rocket called for back-up. Dick, Wally, and what remained of the Team rushed to help. They didn't get there in time. The robot took away her belt, and exploded, killing Rocket and taking a good chunk of the Grand Canyon with it. Rocket died months after Superboy in July.

Now it was Kaldur's turn to be heartbroken. The two had sort of a thing going on. Icon was devastated. He took Rocket in as his own daughter, had allowed her to be Rocket, and now she was dead. He put himself on the League's reserve roster, still publically a League member. Eventually, he was forgotten by the public as new heroes came and he appeared less and less.

And then there were only Kaldur, Dick, Wally, M'Gann, and Zatanna left. At that point, Doctor Fate was freaking out, and Zatara was who-the-hell-knows. Oh wait, Doctor Fate would know. Shortly after Rocket's death, Fate took Zatanna to the mystical realm, and his safe haven in it. He said it was for her training, and to keep her safe. It was the beginning of September when Zatanna left.

The others had kind of expected it. After all, Zatara had become Doctor Fate to keep his daughter safe. Zatanna dead kind of defeated that purpose. It still hurt all of them. Dick took it the hardest, Zatanna was his sort of girlfriend.

He hadn't asked her out officially. He knew she was hurting at the death of her best friend Artemis, and he didn't want to rub it in Wally's face that his girlfriend was alive. So he never asked, knowing it would only hurt Wally to see that he had a girlfriend.

They hadn't heard from Zatanna for years.

After she left, all of the League members were trying to keep it together for the remainder of the Team. At least three times a day, a League member would stop by, and of course Red Tornado was always at the Cave. Black Canary was always at the Cave a lot, but now she ended up being there more.

Meanwhile, for Robin and Batman, things had gotten tenser. Same with the other mentors and protégés. Miss Martian and Kaldur died together, a little over a year after the others. The Light had wanted to wait so the League would loosen their protection.

It had been a simple recon mission, their first mission in almost a year since Zatanna left. It was also a few days before Thanksgiving.

The building they were in went up in flames as they were leaving. Because Miss Martian was still hurting from all of the deaths, Psimon easily breached her mind, and made her set fire to the lab she was in. He made her tell the others to go.

When they were outside the building, they realized the trick. Aqualad raced inside, ordering Kid Flash and Robin to stay outside. They nearly didn't, but Aqualad begged them, saying he would have some peace of mind if he knew they made it.

If only they didn't listen.

They stayed. Kaldur went in. The main generator started to overheat. Some of the chemicals in the building were unstable, and before they knew it, the building exploded. The worst part? Both Dick and Wally were in contact with Aqualad and Miss Martian until the moment the building exploded and they died.

It was horrible. After having the mind link up for so long, they were used to it. It was comforting to know it was there. They could understand each other better with the mind link, since they could feel each other's emotions. Now there was an empty hole in their heads where that faint buzz used to be. There was only silence.

There was no way to put into words how Dick and Wally felt. They both stayed in their own houses, and needless to say, they didn't celebrate Thanksgiving that year. Instead, they cried for all of the friends they lost. They could only assume Doctor Fate told Zatanna that Aqualad, and Miss Martian were dead.

They could only wonder which of them would die next. When Robin was shot by the Joker after disobeying Batman and following him out on patrol, Batman and Robin's partnership reached its breaking point. Strained by all of the deaths and the threat of Dick dying, Batman fired Dick from Robin.

Even now, Wally regretted that he hadn't been there for Dick. It was only a few days after Dick's birthday. He was officially fifteen. He ran away, and Wally also regretted that he hadn't been there then. See, Wally had called after seeing the news, and agreed with Bruce's choice to fire Dick. That really hurt Dick.

Dick formed the Titans, who had no connection at all to the League. Wally eventually plucked up his own courage and ran away. He joined the Titans, and took his school classes online like Dick had been doing. Arsenal joined up, and Wally got along with Arsenal well enough.

He sort of resented the fact that Arsenal took his place as Robin's best friend. Dick hadn't really forgiven him for agreeing with Bruce. Wally and Dick fought a lot, and they sort of became known for not getting along well. Looking back on it, they were tempted to laugh at the irony.

They had gotten along once. They'd been the best of friends. The unstoppable demonic duo. But no one hates you more than someone you once cared about. Young Justice, the Team, was slowly forgotten. The public had never known about them. Helloooo, covert ops team. Well, they weren't that covert, but they were good enough that the smaller villains, crooks, and the public didn't know about them.

Superboy, Artemis, Miss Martian, and Zatanna weren't well known and were regarded as rumors. Maybe if they had lived (or in Zatanna's case, were here), they'd be well-known now. But they weren't alive, and Wally and Dick both tried not to dwell on the might have been's.

Because for all the words written with paper and pen, the saddest are what might have been.

They hated that the world would never know of the sacrifice the members of the Team made. The public knew that Robin and Kid Flash were still around, and they thought Arsenal was Red Arrow with a new name, never mind the fact that Arsenal was clearly younger.

Icon just stopped being a hero, gradually doing less and left until he just didn't do it all. The public forgot about him what with the rare appearances, and they forgot Rocket, too. It wasn't fair.

Wally and Dick came back to the living room. They sat down back by the couch, and they talked about who knew the truth about the Team. And where they were.

If they didn't know, Dick brought up a screen to find out. Despite being years old, the systems were still top notch and they still functioned. They both just talked. Dick had to admit, he missed having Wally at his side. Wally had to admit that he missed his little brother. Dick missed being a little brother, always having someone there who could fix and make up for his mistakes.

It was nice to be able to turn to Wally for advice like he used to.

They talked some more. Dick asked what had happened after he left. Wally told him that Batman disbanded Young Justice officially. Red Tornado shut himself down, and was up in his quarters at the Cave.

Wolf ran off into the woods.

Sphere had remained deactivated, the way she had been since Connor had died.

It made Dick sad that none of the others had known about Young Justice. He had a feeling they would've loved it. Wally and Dick got up and left, agreeing to meet up once a week at the Cave. They also agreed to try and find Wolf. Both of them hoped Wolf was still alive. Both of them hoped they could repair the damage they did to each other.

The members of Young Justice were all but dead. They were all but forgotten. The only ones who remained to remember what once was were Wally and Dick, two original members of the Team. The League had already forgotten. But Dick would make sure he didn't, and so would Wally.

They owed it to the Team, who are (even dead) their family.

" _Today is the day."_

* * *

 **I nearly made myself cry. I'm a terrible person. Happy MLK day if you celebrate it/care. Yes, the italicized parts are from the show, though a few are of my own creation.**

 **Please review.**


	4. Suspicions

**Little bit of randomness, I suppose, but I tried. Hope you like it. It's snowing like crazy here, we've already gotten a least a foot and half. It's funny, the other day I heard some guy say something about Snowapocalypse and then there's the whole Blizzard of 2016 business.**

 **Ha, some guy misspelled Blizzard alert so it says Lizzard alert. Everybody's been freaking out. It's kind of funny, we've gotten this much snow before. Still. They're freaking out. And this much snow . . . It's been awesome. I love snow. We haven't gotten much this winter.** **Well, I'm done expressing my childish joy at finally getting snow :) so . . .**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own thing.**

* * *

Jason stared as Dick moved with fluid grace, taking out men left and right. He was angry, as angry as Jason had ever seen the happy go-lucky man. It didn't make sense in Jason's mind. Dick was kind and gentle, a fun-loving idiot who had a horrible love life.

He should've known there was more to the man. Jason was an idiot for assuming he knew everything about Dick, about the man who called Jason his little brother. Maybe that was what shocked Jason the most. The fact that the man who called Jason his little brother, tackled him in a hug, and completely mother-henned over him when he got hurt was the same one kicking ass with ruthless efficiency.

It all started when he made a mistake. It was a stupid one, normally one he would joke about with Roy and Kory as one Nightwing would make. He got caught by some of rival of his lackeys'. Him, the Red Hood, kidnapped. Embarrassing. Jason was coming up with plans to get out before accepting that he was well and truly screwed.

He'd just accepted that he'd have to wait for Arsenal and Starfire to realize what was going on and get him out. Nobody would believe these idiots had captured him. Then Dick had come in. And Nightwing had looked pissed. There were ten guys, and Nightwing took all of them out in like, a minute or two before going over to Jason already in mother-hen mode.

Apparently, Nightwing had seen Jason get nabbed by those idiots, which explained why he was here.

Red Hood gaped. Then he felt a new emotion that he had never associated Dick with before. Oh, sure, there were many emotions he associated Nightwing with. Anger and annoyance being one of them. But now he felt a slight prick of fear. It sent a chill down Jason's back, how quickly Dick could switch between emotions.

Later, after enduring Dick going all overprotective big brother (even though Jason was two inches taller), a lecture from him, an explanation to and a lecture from Arsenal and Starfire, Jason lay awake staring at the ceiling. Nightwing and the fight from earlier was still bothering him.

He remembered the Demon caught with Dick's yearbooks earlier a week or two earlier. At the time he was confused about why Demon would want to look through them, but now he was starting to understand. Especially after tonight. Dick wasn't as much of an idiot as he seemed. He could be smart when he wanted to be, just most of the time he was.

 _Or does he choose not to_? A voice in the back of Jason's head nagged. He told it to screw off.

Now he was _positive_ he was insane, if he wasn't already before. The idea bugged him, but then he dismissed it. No way was Dick that good an actor to fake being an idiot for so long. Images of the fight seemed to flash behind his eyes. It was then that Jason remembered something peculiar about one particular move Dick used.

It wasn't any of the moves Jason had ever seen Dick use in a fight. That was saying something, consider how often Jason had fought him, but . . . maybe there was more to Dick then he thought. The thought disturbed Jason. Dick was an open book, the idea that he might be keeping secrets was just plain wrong.

Unnatural. Like a . . . like a bird chasing a cat, or something.

Jason shot up on his bed. That move . . . that he saw Dick use, it was a move Black Canary uses. That was why it was familiar. How did Dick know that move? Something didn't add up. Jason scowled.

* * *

Tim was trying desperately to hack into the computer. Besides him, Barbara was try on another computer. Nightwing was watching the entrance, and alarms were blaring. They were in a small room with computers all along the walls and a table in the middle with a variety of plans on it.

Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Robin were here because this gang figured out a way to bring drugs into Gotham under their radar. The plans on the table had already been photographed, they just needed to hack into the master computer.

Unfortunately, this gang had connections and hired an apparent genius to do their codes and firewalls, because Red Robin and Barbara were hopelessly lost. And they were the most tech savvy of the Bats. The alarms blaring weren't helping their focus, and neither was Nightwing telling them to hurry up.

The cherry on top was that the alarms were flashing red.

Batgirl snapped, "Why don't you do it?"

Nightwing, irritated, said, "Fine, I will."

Batgirl stepped back in shock as Nightwing pushed her out of the way. "You - You can't hack."

"Doesn't mean I can't try." Nightwing said evenly.

He started pressing buttons at random . . . or so it seemed. Batgirl tried to follow along, and so did Red Robin. They could see that the buttons Nightwing pressed were deliberate however random they seemed. Suddenly a green ACCESS GRANTED sign popped up.

Both of their jaws dropped as Nightwing stepped backwards and gestured to them and the computer. It took a second before they snapped out of it. They got the information, and left.

* * *

"Hey, Dick, since when do you know how to hack?" Tim tried to ask Dick casually. It was hours after the hacking incident, and the three were back from patrol.

Barbara was in the girls 'locker room' getting changed out of her costume. Tim and Dick were waiting behind the Batcomputer while Bruce looked over the information they got. Damian, who was working on his motorcycle, nearly dropped the wrench in shock.

"Grayson knows how to hack?!" Damian asked shocked.

Damian had been sure Dick hadn't even known how to work the TV remote.

"Goldie knows how to do what?" Jason asked.

He was here because Alfred asked him over. And fine, that incident with Dick saving him the other day, acting weirdly badass, disturbed him ever so slightly. That didn't mean he was here to possibly talk about the Canary move with Dick.

Not at all.

"Why are you here?" Steph asked as she came down the stairs. Cass followed her.

"I'm here because Alfred asked me to come." It was an unspoken rule to never disobey Alfred. Jason shot back, "Why are you here?"

Steph rolled her eyes, "I'm here because Cass invited me to hang out."

Dick knew he should be cheering at nearly all of them in the Batcave without any of them dying or dead and/or injured, but he was only feeling slight dread. How did he explain he knew how to hack? He stopped hacking after . . . Dick internally winced.

"Well . . ." Tim said. "Back to my original question, Dick, since when did you know how to hack?"

Jason snorted. "So that was the question? Replacement, Goldie doesn't know how to use his phone, much less hack."

Barbara came in dressed in jeans and a green sweatshirt. "Actually, Jason, he does. I was there."

Barbara and Tim explained what happened. The others listen with skeptical expressions on their face. Bruce, unbeknownst to everyone, had turned around in his chair and was watching everyone. He couldn't believe it. Dick had hacked something again? After years of not hacking anything . . .

Dick saw everyone watching him. He shrugged and rubbed the back of his head, a nervous habit he never got rid of.

"Look, guys, I know how to hack, but I'm awful at it, so I don't do it often. That was just a random guess, I had no clue what I was doing, I just kind of reacted to Babs telling me to do it, I pressed random buttons and got lucky. Nothing more, nothing less."

Dick left, heading upstairs, and everyone just kind of froze awkwardly. Dick had seemed nervous, he was rubbing the back of his neck, something they only saw him do when he was really nervous. Confused looks were exchanged between them. On the other hand, Bruce knew that everything Dick said was a lie.

Dick knew how to hack dam well, he made the firewalls on the Batcomputer. Heck, Dick used to hack the Watchtower, Batcomputer, and the pentagon for _fun._

"Lies." Cass muttered to herself. In the silence of the room, everyone heard her.

They sent glances toward Bruce, expecting him to explain. Bruce sighed. They weren't going to let this go that easy.

So Bruce said, "I tried to teach Dick how to hack when he was younger, he only learned the basics." _And then some,_ Bruce mentally added. "Look, perhaps Dick figured out how to hack the master computer because the computer only appeared complex."

Bruce headed upstairs. In a rare moment of working together outside of the costume (working together in costume was rare, too) the remaining Bats shared a look. For once, no insults, punches, or kicks were exchanged.

Something was going on, and none of them liked the feeling that they were missing something huge.

* * *

He went to the Cave. After that awkward conversation and hacking being brought up, the Cave and the Team had been on his mind. He didn't really care if Wally was there or not, he just needed to be left alone to think. Everyone needed their alone time. Including the social butterfly Dick Grayson.

He surveyed the place in front of him. He breathed in deeply. Dick was in the Cave, and he was dressed in jeans, a black long sleeved shirt, and a light blue unbuttoned shirt, along with his combat boots. He was laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

Dick was tempted to turn the TV onto the static channel Connor had loved so much, but he neglected to. He needed some peace and quiet to think, and Dick knew he'd get it here. After all, this place was empty. Anyone who knew about it wouldn't think to look here for him.

He heaved a sigh as he thought about who knew about the place. At the time of the formation of the Team, there had been sixteen members: Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, John Stewart, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, Flash, Zatara, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Red Tornado, Hawkman, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Captain Atom, and Captain Marvel. Then Zatara became Doctor Fate and joined as Fate, Atom joined, Icon joined, Red Arrow joined, and Plastic Man joined.

Plastic Man was still an active League member, though he never mentioned the Team. Did he know of the Team? Yes, but he didn't know them as well as the others. All the same, the death of the Team hurt Plastic Man.

Icon disappeared gradually after the death of Rocket, eventually stopping being a hero all together once the public forgot about him. Only some of the oldest heroes knew about Icon, and those were also the ones who knew about the Team.

Red Arrow was dead. Doctor Fate (Zatara) retreated into the magical realm, shortly before Klarion did. Atom was also a League member, and like Plastic Man, he never mentioned the Team.

Captain Marvel, and Captain Atom were both still active League members. Hawkgirl and Hawkman only helped the League out when needed, mostly sticking to themselves. Aquaman was changed after the death of Kaldur, whom he considered as an almost son.

Aquaman was still an active League member, but preferred to go by his human name, Arthur Curry, instead of Orin. He was also less responsible, held himself with less dignity. Held the life of Atlanteans above other lives, when Dick knew Orin once considered all lives equal, none more important than another.

Orin also treated Garth, best friend of Kaldur and the second Aqualad (now Tempest) coldly. Dick lost count of how many times Garth complained of fights. Red Tornado hid himself away in his 'room', and deactivated himself. Red Tornado simply requested they leave him alone.

The League left Red Tornado alone, as he had requested. Black Canary became wilder after the deaths of the Team members. Dinah had been close to Connor since she was his mentor for so long, and Artemis and Dinah had gotten close as the only 'Arrow Clan' girls (at the time; now there was Cissie).

The relationship of Dinah and Oliver suffered as a result of the deaths. Before, they had been somewhat steady. Now, they were constantly back and forth. Dinah just mainly traveled from city to city, occasionally helping the Birds of Prey.

Dick knew that Black Canary and Batgirl (Babs) became friends, with Black Canary taking Batgirl on as a protégé. He also knew the problems that came from that, as 'training' Batgirl reminded Dinah of when she was the Team's trainer.

As the Team's trainer and therapist, she was perhaps one of the closest League members to the Team. Red Tornado was also close to the Team, as he was their 'den mother'. Even Captain Atom was close to them, as he was there espionage teacher.

(All of them had been failing that class).

Green Arrow is still an active League member. He was devastated at the loss of Red Arrow. When he saw Arsenal . . . Dick knew Ollie didn't react the way he should have. Ollie constantly expected Roy to act like Red Arrow, and tried to mold him into Red Arrow in a way.

As a result, fights happened between Roy and Green Arrow. It was made worse by the fact that Ollie never told Roy about Red Arrow. Eventually, Roy left, and changed his name from Speedy to Arsenal. Dick's heart had felt like breaking. He had wanted to scream, _it's supposed to be Red Arrow!_

However, in the absence of Wally (they had a split in their friendship) Roy had become Dick's best friend. Out of respect for him, Dick said nothing.

Flash, Barry Allen, Wally's mentor, died about two years after the Team's disbandment. At the time, Dick was eighteen, and Wally was twenty. To honor the memory of his mentor, Wally took up the mantle of the Flash. He'd been Flash for five years now. Along the way, Bart had become the next Kid Flash (Barry's grandson from the future, apparently), and then switched to the name Impulse.

Green Lantern (Hal Jordan) still worked with the League, but he mostly kept to his own city like the Hawks. Occasionally, he talked to the other League members, or Wally and Dick, but Hal never stuck around long enough to get to know the newer heroes.

John Stewart, Green Lantern 2, became friends with Wally, acting as a substitute mentor when Wally was trying to fill his Uncle's shoes but didn't know where to start. John pointed, and nudged (or shoved) Wally in the right direction. As far as Dick knew, he was still an active League member.

And Dick knew for certain that Martian Manhunter, Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman were all active League members. Even if Batman's relationship with the League had gotten a little rocky. And so much had happened within the years after the Team.

So many new heroes sprung up, along with new hero groups. Heck, Dick had been responsible for one when he ran away, and created the Teen Titans in Jump City. He sighed. He was getting too lost in his thoughts. That was never good.

Dick got up, yawning. He stretched, and went to the table, sitting down. Dick headed for the fridge, and found some fruit punch in it. After the talk they had, Wally and Dick both agreed to keep coming to the Cave. It had been a few weeks since then, and they hadn't really talked since.

They did, however, make an effort to keep the fridge stocked. It was one of the ways they could tell the other had been to the Cave; food was missing. Pouring himself a glass, Dick sat at the table, and he hung his head in his hands. So much had happened since he founded the Titans.

All his thoughts were jumbled in his head, and Dick forced himself to slowly piece together a timeline of what happened after he ran away. It would help him. Maybe. Dick formed the Titans, Wally joined, Jason became Robin, Dick took up the name Nightwing, things with Bruce improved, Jason died and things with Bruce went to hell in a handbasket.

Afterward, Dick struggled. Wally's Uncle died, and then Wally left the Titan's to become Flash. Roy left because of problems with Green Arrow. Roy resurfaced as Arsenal. Garth stayed, but switched to the reserve roster. Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Raven all stayed, though Starfire left to attend to matters on her home planet.

He knew that she had returned, and was part of the Outlaws along with Arsenal and Red Hood. Things for Dick fell apart, and Donna helped. Donna was like his sister, and he met her because of Wonder Woman.

Eventually, Donna began taking breaks. Dick knew she was struggling with finding her role and her desire to support him. So, Dick left for Bludhaven, and started a life there. Shortly after Tim became the third Robin, and Jason came back as Red Hood.

Babs had already become Batgirl, and there were a whole bunch of other things going on that Dick lost track of them all. Like Tim becoming the new leader of the Titans, and making friends with a new Superboy, Impulse, Beast Boy, Raven, and the new Wonder Girl.

Somewhere along the way Stephanie came in as Spoiler, and Cass became Black Bat. And then Damian came, Bruce disappeared, and Dick had to become the very thing he feared becoming when he was thirteen. Batman.

He took Damian in as Robin, and that hurt Tim, who created Red Robin and searched for Bruce.

After a year, Tim had found Bruce. Bruce has only been back for about a year, and despite the disagreements they have, Dick can't help the happiness that he feels knowing Bruce is alive. His life without Bruce had been hard, and he had lost to many people already. Dick would've lost it if it hadn't been for Damian.

Everything in the past year had been pretty crazy as they adjusted to having Bruce back again.

None of the 'Bats' had talked to the League much (then again, the Bats tended to keep to themselves). The League didn't consider the Bats a friendly lot, only necessary allies because of their skill sets. There was a time, Dick reflected, when Bruce could've called the League friends.

Or aunts and uncles for Dick, since he was so young. He practically grew up surrounded by the Justice League as his family. How weird a thought was that, Dick considered, to have the Justice League as extended family. Dick grinned ever so slightly. Looking back, he found it hard to believe everything he did.

So much of it seemed impossible. Then again, when they were kids, the impossible was there everyday life.

No world-threatening crisis had come up. Leaving Dick more time to brood about the Team. He was doing it more so than usual lately, maybe because he saw that picture, maybe because of Damian's insistent curiosity, maybe because of the questions the others had started asking.

Either way, he knew they would kill him when they found the truth. He had no doubt they would find out. They'd be so pissed. Especially Barbara when she finds out he hacked into her systems. In Dick's defense, he only did it when she was mad at him, and he desperately needed info as Nightwing but wanted to avoid her (cowardly, he knew).

The rest would likely murder him for keeping secrets, keeping them off the Titan's until they are at least fifteen when he was on the Team at thirteen (Jason, Tim, Damian), and oh, keeping secrets. And when they learned about all of the missions he did (or even past criminals he went after), he'd never hear the end of lectures about safety.

Dick just knew all of the Bats (minus Alfred, Bruce, Leslie, and Lucius) would turn all of the lectures he gave to them about safety against him. Because of all these reasons, Dick began to mentally write his obituary in his head. Better safe than sorry.

* * *

 **Obviously I made some changes with the whole comic verse thing and the Teen Titans to fit them into my YJ world for this AU. Any complaining will not convince me to not make those changes.**

 **HOLY CRAP WE'RE GETTING SO MUCH SNOW!**

 **There. _Now_ I'm happy. I sound way too tired at the beginning and unenthusiastic about snow. **

**Please review. Seriously. Please. I've been going stir crazy stuck inside all day because of the snow (well, almost, I went outside and played with my little brother; we both got stuck in the snow). A review would bring some entertainment to my day. So, again, please review.**


	5. Arguments and Apologies

**I'm a little amazed at the response this story has gotten. Guess it'll end up being more than five chapters. And I sort of feel bad for apparently making a lot of people cry with this story.**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was a few days from the hacking incident. Tim, surprisingly, had stopped over at Dick's for a talk. The pair were sitting in silence at Dick's kitchen table, untouched case files in between them. The case files had been the supposed reason Tim said he needed to come over, but Dick doubted it.

"Tim . . ." He tried to interrupt his lengthy talk about the case files.

Dick knew Tim was stalling. He was too nervous to ask Dick what he came here to ask. He sighed, exasperated.

The door to his apartment was flung open rather dramatically. Jason slammed the door, waltzing in with a cigarette in his mouth. He sat at the table, putting his feet up on it, accidently knocking the files onto the floor. He looked at them with distaste, clearly recognizing what they were.

Tim and Dick stared at Jason, who waved his hand.

"By all means, continue whatever you were doing," Jason shrugged, "I'll talk to Goldie after."

Great. Jason was here to talk to him too.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jason, why are you here?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "I just told you – and, correct me if I'm wrong, you once told me your apartment was always open to me."

Tim choked, coughing, obviously trying not to laugh.

Dick's annoyance grew. Bad enough he had to listen to Tim beat around the bush – don't get him wrong, he loved the kid, Tim was still his brother – but now Jason was here. And honestly, since Jason ditched him last night after agreeing to meet him at the coffee shop Dick wasn't exactly happy with him.

"Yeah, well, you had the chance to talk to me last night," Dick asked, irritated, "Could you leave?"

"Technically," Jason answered, "I never agreed, big brother."

His words dripped with sarcasm. Dick's eye twitched.

"Jason," He snapped, "I mean it. Leave."

Tim made a surprised noise at the sharp tone Dick's voice took. It was kind of scary for his doofus of an older brother to sound like that. Generally, Dick lectured them, adding a corny joke into it. He didn't really snap at any of them.

Jason snorted. "Ooh, I'm so scared. Maybe you should be the one to leave. It's what you're good at, isn't it?"

Jason hit a nerve, and he knew it. Tim watched the two warily.

"Jason," Dick scowled, "Shut up."

"Why?" Jason asked, "You left Bats, didn't you? You left Gotham and Barbara. You left the Titans and Starfire. Face it, Dick Grayson, you're coward. You run and you don't even bother to look back at the people you hurt."

Dick silently fumed, but to his horror he couldn't r deny what Jason was saying. Too much evidence. He flinched as Jason continued,

"You know, for an older brother, you suck shit. You ran from Tim," Jason jerked his head towards Tim, "And left me to help him. How messed up is that?"

Jason looked at Dick challengingly. To his slight surprise, he saw the older man scowling angrily.

Dick gritted his teeth. "You know," He said, "For a little brother, you both suck. Jason, you can't keep a meeting if it meant saving your life. You run from your chances your family gives you because we give a shit. Tim, you hold too many dam grudges. Grow up."

Not the most eloquent speech, but it had the intended effect. Jason went silent. Tim continued watching, a pained look on his face. Was that really what Dick thought?

Dick, still pissed, continued, "And I'm done trying. If I suck so bad at being an older brother, I'll stop. After all," His voice took on a bitter tone, echoing what the two had told him so many times before, "I'm not your real brother."

Ouch. Tim and Jason couldn't deny that they had both told Dick he wasn't their brother. They hadn't realized how much it apparently meant to the man.

He shook his head in disgust. "Forget this. I don't need it."

Dick walked to the door, slamming it on his way out.

* * *

Dick sat at an obscure bar - at least, he thought it was one; it was hard to tell beneath the grime and shady customers glued to their usual seats – someplace in Bludhaven. He didn't quite know why he was here. His father – John Grayson, long dead – had once told him to never drink when he was upset.

So a glass of water was in front of him instead of a beer. And he felt – not exactly miserable, but empty.

To be honest, he hadn't expected Jason to show up at his apartment. He certainly hadn't expected to get into a fight with Jason. And Tim. Tim had been there before Jason showed up, and Dick just had to fight with him as well.

. . . His life sucked.

Dick sighed as he stood up and stretched, taking a moment to pay for his water, and then walking out. He didn't quite feel like going to his apartment yet, nor did he feel like going to the Cave as he had been doing lately. He needed movement. It helped him think.

So Dick, keeping a wary eye out for late night-early morning (he wasn't really aware of the time) turned into the nearest alley, heading up the fire escape. He easily hoisted himself up on the roof, hiding in the shadows of the stairwell doorway as he sat near it.

His legs dangled over the side of the roof, and a breeze ruffled his air. He took a deep breath, the cold stinging his lungs a little. The city air smelled of car exhaust and street vender food, but up here the breeze provided some fresher air.

Dick gazed out at the lights of the city, his expression thoughtful.

Heights always helped him think. Ever since he was a boy in the circus. Even as a Titan, they helped him think. He would go and sit at the top of the Tower, just thinking. Sometimes it was nice to be alone with his thoughts.

But he never allowed his thoughts to stray towards them. He never allowed himself to think of the friends – teammates, family, really – he lost. He was the coward in that regard – the coward Jason accused him of being.

Dick yawned. He stretched once more, standing up. He balanced for a moment on the edge of the roof, a step away from certain death or grave injury. He was almost certain he could survive a fall from this height.

Shrugging, Dick hopped back onto the roof, whistling a soft tune under his breath as he headed back.

His apartment was dark. Not that he had expected people to be in it, but it was too quiet. Something felt off. Dick squinted his eyes, adjusting to the darkness. That was when he realized there was a spinning chair a few feet in front of him, in the space between his table and the living room.

He rolled his eyes when he saw a shock of red hair over the top of the chair.

"Expecting someone?" Wally asked, a serious expression on his face. It was ruined by the smile he cracked a moment later. "I've always wanted to do that."

He rolled his eyes once more at Wally's childish antics.

"Nah," Dick answered, "But your village called. Their idiot is missing."

Wally rolled his eyes. "That joke? Really, man?"

He shrugged, frowning as a thought occurred to him.

"Where'd you get the chair, anyways?"

"Tim's room," Wally answered. "And dude, you must be out of it. What's up?"

"The ceiling, the sky, the lightbulbs, the roof . . ." Dick smirked.

Wally pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed, giving Dick a look.

He said, "Dude. Seriously. Tim called Bart, asking if you had come to the Titans."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "And you just happened to be nearby?"

"That's beside the point," Wally waved his hand dismissively, "The point is, the last time the Bats asked for help on finding you without you being kidnapped - mind you this was when it was just Bats – was when you ran after the fight over Robin with Bruce."

He wanted to argue that he didn't run, but found he found he couldn't really argue. He had run. Jason was more right to call him a coward than he had realized. Noticing Dick's silence, Wally frowned. He quickly put the chair away and dashed off.

"I – figured I'd check on you. Knowing you, you'd come back. You always do," Wally said simply. Plainly. Like it was fact.

Dick frowned as the speedster left. He had some graves to visit. Apologies to say. But, first – sleep. He collapsed on his couch.

* * *

He stood in front of the graves. He didn't have a headache, which he supposed was one good thing about drinking water at a bar, but he still wore dark glasses anyways. The slight stubble on his face was gone. His black hair was a mess, and a stronger breeze from yesterday kept messing it up more.

Dick wore some ripped jeans, a grey T-shit, and his beat up Gotham Knights jacket. It wasn't that cold out, but the breeze made it a little chilly. He shivered, pulling his jacket around him tighter. He clutched the roses in his hand, ignoring the thorns digging into his skin.

Thorns. Roses. Every rose had a thorn.

Dick's lips twitched at the thought. His mom, Mary Grayson, had always liked that saying. John Grayson, his father, liked to joke the rose was her and his Aunt Karla. His eyes found their graves, along with the grave of his cousin, Johnny Grayson.

Aunt Karla would've had a heart attack at the beat up way he was dressed – his mom would've, too. Dick shook his head. No use dwelling on that. He was here, and they were . . . wherever. He carefully walked up to each of the five graves, laying a rose on each one.

Finally, Dick sat on the grass in front of his parent's graves.

"Hey, Mom," His voice cracked, "Hey, Dad. It's been a little while since I've visited like this."

That was true. His visits as he grew became less frequent, moving from every few weeks or so to only holidays and the anniversaries. Now he only visited on the day they died. It had been a while since he came just to be here.

"So I've made a few mistakes," Dick continued, "And I . . . I could use – someone."

Wally might listen, but this . . . this was something he needed to tell them. Maybe they would hear.

In a quiet voice, Dick told them everything that had happened since his last visit – everything. Including the recent stuff about the photos and yearbooks and campfires. And then, in an even quieter voice, one filled with sorrow and regret, he told them what happened to the Team.

He could never bring himself to tell them before. Maybe it seemed silly, but he knew his Mom would've loved them. He knew she would've taken their losses hard. It was never the right time – (there was no such thing, a part of him whispered) – and if he was honest, he was still coping with the losses himself.

After he was finished, Dick sat there for a while, cross-legged. He tried not to let the tears fall. Even so, a few slipped past.

* * *

A pit of nerves churned in his stomach as he stared at the building across from him. Commissioner Gordon's house. It was Wednesday nights, and Dick knew Barbara usually had dinner with her father. Maybe he should go to her apartment first, but he had a gut feeling that was not where she was.

Usually, his instincts were spot on.

As he continued staring at the building apprehensively, part of him wanted to chicken out and continue avoiding Barbara. A stronger part of him told him to stand his ground – a part of him that, he felt, he had kept locked up since he joined the Titans.

That part of him was the one that made him incredible as Robin. It was the part of him that had a strong drive, a desire to know more and a desire to protect. Sure, he had that as Nightwing, but it was weaker compared to the past.

It was also the part of him that stopped him from being absurdly reckless. Yeah, he was reckless now, but . . . more so.

Dick took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. His face set into a determined expression, and he didn't look back as he crossed the street and knocked on the door.

Jim opened it. He wore a light blue dress shirt, and slacks, along with loafers. Probably just came from work. Behind him, through the door sized opening, Dick could see Barbara at the table. She scowled when she saw him, turning back towards her food.

"Commissioner Gordon," Dick said politely. "May I come in?"

Jim looked him suspiciously, before opening the door wider and allowing Dick to walk into the library. His reddish brown hair was a little greyer than before, as was his mustache, but his eyes, hidden behind his glasses, were as sharp as ever.

Jim hadn't exactly liked Dick ever since he broke up with Barbara before leaving, and then coming to Bludhaven starting an on-again, off-again relationship with her.

"What would you like?" Jim asked a little grumpily, trying to be polite.

He took another deep breath. "Can I speak to Barbara?"

Jim raised an eyebrow, but Barbara – still sitting at the table and looking down determinedly at her food – immediately said,

"No."

Dick internally sighed.

"Barbara," He said seriously, "I'm not asking you to give me a chance, because you've given me plenty. Just . . . hear me out."

"No." She didn't even look at him, though she nearly looked up in surprise at the chances part.

Jim watched their interaction curiously. Unbeknownst to be Dick, he studied the boy he had watched become a young man. And he saw . . . something there. Maybe in the way he held himself, or the frustrated, slightly desperate expression on his face as he asked Barbara to hear him out.

Jim interrupted their conversation – argument, really.

"Barbara – listen to him. If you don't like the words he's saying . . ." Jim shrugged, walking into the kitchen and dining room with Dick trailing behind. He strapped his gun holster to his belt, the gun inside it and probably loaded.

Dick nearly gulped, but refrained from doing so. He saw Barbara smirk.

"Thanks, Dad," She told Dick, "For him, not for you."

They went up the stairs to her room, and Barbara made sure to leave the door open.

"Talk," She ordered him, a guarded expression on her face. She glared at him.

And so he did.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you," Dick said, "I'm sorry for so many things."

"That's it?" Barbara asked, interrupting him. "I'm sorry? Do you know what that does? Jack shit, Dick."

He winced. Okay, he deserved that.

"I realize that," Dick said, "But . . . Can we just . . . try to be friends again? Because I miss my friend, Babs."

She flinched when he called her Babs. He hadn't really done that in a while. Mostly, they dated, things were good, then they screamed at each other and broke up, eventually repeating the process. She bit her lip nervously, thinking carefully.

As much as she hated to admit it, she missed her friend too. Dick Grayson. Not whoever the hell he pretended to be the past few years. She missed the guy who blushed when one of their friends talked about something rude or vulgar, the one who tried not to curse for fear of Alfred.

She missed the guy who was honest with her. And as she stood in front of him now, she thought she could see that guy. It was written on his face, in the earnest expression that was there along with the hopeful, wary gleam in his eyes.

He looked a bit like a lost puppy. Barbara struggled internally with herself. She was torn.

Maybe she would regret this. But it was with a resigned sigh that Barbara crossed her arms and lessened her glare.

"Fine," Her tone turned sharp, "But no funny business."

Dick sighed in relief. "Agreed, no funny business."

"Well, that went well," Jim said.

The two jumped. They spun around, and saw the police Commissioner standing there, his hand on his gun.

He looked at Dick. "I thought for sure I'd have to shoot you."

Barbara snickered.

Dick shifted uncomfortable. "Um, uh, thanks for . . . not shooting me?"

Jim chuckled. "No problem, Dick. Now, would you like some dinner?"

Barbara shot a death glare towards her father, who just shrugged. She sighed.

"Yeah, sure," Barbara said, "We have enough food."

Dick relaxed. He smiled, honestly and a little shyly. Barbara nearly raised an eyebrow. Dick Grayson wasn't shy. At least, not usually.

She smiled back at him curiously, before the smile morphed into a smirk.

"Race you to the kitchen!" She called out to him as she stood for a split second in the doorway.

Dick looked surprised for the briefest moment, before he raced after her.

"Hey! No fair!"

Jim, left alone, shook his head. "Kids."

* * *

"Damian," Batman demanded once Damian came out of the locker room, "What's wrong?"

The boy was dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a loose shirt. It had been a long patrol. Damian had beat up a thug a little too forcefully. Of course, he had a perfectly viable excuse for that.

"Nothing," Damian grumbled, "I was just doing my job."

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose. He saw Alfred behind Damian, watched the pair with a critical look. Once Alfred saw him looking, he gave Batman a stern look.

"Father? Father!" Damian shouted.

Bruce snapped back to attention. "What?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "I said I'm going back upstairs."

"Damian, wait!" Bruce called out, but Damian ignored him.

He clenched his teeth and leaned against the Batcomputer table. Alfred walked up beside him.

"Alfred," Bruce sighed tiredly. Kids were exhausting. "What do I do?"

Alfred gave him another reprimanding look.

"Master Bruce," He said, "Master Damian is upset, I believe, because earlier he reached out to you for information regarding some of Master Richard's past, and you declined to answer, ignoring him entirely."

Bruce frowned. "That's because it is Dick's past to tell."

Alfred shot Bruce a look. "Then why did you not tell Master Damian this, sir?"

Bruce scowled. "I don't know."

He pinched the bridge of his nose again. He felt a headache coming on. Bruce made for the locker rooms. Alfred rolled his eyes and went back up the stairs, knowing there was nothing for him to do except make some food.

From his spot on the stairs, Damian quickly scurried up them. He didn't dare look back as he ran out the secret entrance, eventually running up the stairs and stopping outside the door to his room. He was no longer in costume, having taken that off before his father talked to him.

But, he feared his sock clad feet were a little loud on the floor. Damian listened carefully for any noise that would indicate Pennyworth was following. He entered his room, sighing as he closed it and leaned against it.

So he was right. There was something there they weren't telling him. Damian frowned thoughtfully. Well, he would know what it was soon enough. They couldn't keep it from him forever.

* * *

 **Please review.**


	6. Little Talks

**Thanks for the feedback. It's cool to hear what people say. You seem to really like this story. To be honest, I love it, and I'm the one writing it.**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was a few days since Dick had reunited with Barbara. He was knocking on a door to a crappy apartment, knowing full well only Jason was home. Worry, nervousness, anxiety seemed to crush him with their weight. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands shoved into the pockets of his faded, worn jeans. He wore a comfortable navy blue hoodie, his hair messed up and a pair of sunglasses crookedly resting on his nose, obscuring his eyes and some of his face.

He looked nothing like the neat haired, smiling adult adopted son/ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne. That was kind of the point. He didn't feel like being Richard Grayson-Wayne. He felt like being himself, and Dick had the unsettling feeling he hadn't been himself in a very long time. Plus, Jason's apartment wasn't in the nice part of Gotham (as if any part of Gotham could be nice; perhaps more dangerous than other parts of Gotham was better).

Dick winced as he heard a thud and a muffled curse from within the apartment.

 _"ROY!"_ Jason yelled from inside, _"I told you not to forget your dam key!"_

Dick shook his head, slightly surprised the apartments in this abandoned building even had locks.

 _"Why the hell,"_ He heard Jason grumble loudly to himself, _"do we even bother locking the door? This place is boarded up."_

Snorting, Dick answered through the door, "Jason, you know that the abandoned buildings in Gotham aren't really abandoned. Hell, the warehouses are the villains default for everything. Traps, meetings, business, etc."

He could almost hear Jason freeze on the other side of the door, almost able to see in his mind's eye Jason's hand on the door knob.

"C'mon, Jason," Dick asked impatiently. "Let me in. We need to talk."

 _"Like hell_ ," Jason snapped, his voice less muffled now that he was angry and closer to the door.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm pretty sure Kori and Roy would be mad if I broke the door down. At the very least, you'd have to explain why the door would be gone."

" . . . Fine."

A minute or two later, Dick stood facing Jason in the living room, which consisted of a (maybe stolen) TV and one torn up couch with a blanket thrown carelessly over it. Despite that, the place had a comfortable feel to it, like a home. Jason made no move to sit down, leaning against the wall behind the TV. He glared at Dick with his arms crossed, wearing only a tank top and cargo pants, his cargo boots still on.

Jason's black hair stuck up funnily on one side, the white bang stark against the black, and Dick realized he'd woken Jason up. The younger man looked like he'd collapsed when he came home as Red Hood, and hadn't bothered to change out of his uniform all the way. Vaguely, it reminded Dick of Jason's Robin days, though he never knew Jason well-enough. Too mad at Bruce.

But still, a part of Dick simply ached at the vaguely familiar habit Jason had. Alfred used to yell at Jason for it.

"So," Jason said.

He didn't have to add the, _why the ***** are you here?_

Granted, Jason would probably use more curse words when asking that question.

Dick nervously rubbed the back of his neck, before sighing and crossing his arms.

"We needed to talk about a couple of days ago," He admitted.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," Jason said bluntly, "Or cry and go all teary-eyed spouting a bunch of family crap and earn my nonexistent forgiveness, because I don't need it. Talk to Tim."

He opened his mouth to say something, to protest, to attempt to explain – but he didn't have the chance to speak.

"Now," Jason continued, "Tell me how you found this place, and then get out."

"Look," Dick said, "Jason, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry."

Jason said nothing, looking stonily at Dick.

"I'm only human, Jason. We have flaws," Dick sighed tiredly. "And I swear I'll talk to Tim after this, but he's been avoiding me."

Jason snorted, but said nothing. He knew possibly better than anyone that people had flaws, having learned that as a street kid and in his line of work as Red Hood. It was a lesson he kept learning, until Jason figured out that people couldn't really be counted him - not when it came to him.

"Everyone has a breaking point, okay?" Dick explained, "You have one. I have one, and I reach it sometimes. I can't – I can't be happy all the time. I'm only human, alright? I'm allowed to breakdown, especially when there's this crushing weight that just . . . won't leave."

Jason blinked, his green eyes slightly wide, before they narrowed. Dick was turning to leave, having told him to call him if he needed. He hesitated momentarily, knowing talking to Dick meant the acrobat would stay longer and Jason knew he was ruining his chance to get rid of him.

Jason threw caution to the wind.

"That move," he said, "The one you did a while back. When you . . . got me out a tight spot with those goons."

Dick didn't say anything, turning around in slight surprise. He knew immediately what Jason was referencing. All those months ago, Dick had thought he'd seen surprise from Jason when Dick helped him. Dick was good at reading Jason behind the mask. He'd brushed it off as surprise that he helped Jason, not really thinking about it. Looking back on it, he shouldn't have.

He was mildly surprised Jason waited this long to question him. Usually, when Red Hood wanted something, he acted impulsively. He wasn't known for his patience.

"How'd you know it?" Jason demanded. "It was one of Canary's, you shouldn't know it."

Dick huffed a little.

"Jason," he said, "I grew up practically surrounded by the Justice League. I learned a thing or two from them now and then."

* * *

"This," Wally declared, "Is a supremely stupid idea. I think you've lost it, dude."

He continued tripping gracefully over tree roots, his arms flailing as the redhead struggled to keep pace with the acrobat, who somehow avoided every single tree root in the near pitch black. The flash light in his hands landed on random trees each time his arms waved around. He felt like he was overheating in a dark green coat and jeans. His sneakers were muddy, and he frowned as he thought about that briefly.

Wally couldn't believe he let Dick talk him into . . . this. Strolling in the woods around the Cave at night (having gone out the back exit) looking for Wolf.

Seriously. He was sure his friend had lost it.

"Shut up and help," Dick said. "And you can't lose what you never had. I dress up in a skin tight suit and beat the crap out of people at night. In what world is that considered to be a sane, normal pastime?"

Wally cracked a grin, "We're superheroes. We've redefined normal."

Dick rolled his eyes, slowing his pace a little. He knew Wally wasn't used to watching where he was going. In the day, Wally could pick the flattest route through the forest, his mind going faster than his feet and moving automatically to avoid the roots. At night Wally going through a forest was a very different story. Plus, Dick could see pretty well in the dark. One of the side effects of fighting crime mainly at night.

He resisted the urge to laugh as Wally tripped over yet another tree root, nearly going head first into a tree.

"Some friend you are," the speedster grumbled. "Stop for a minute, will you?"

His hand was on the tree, while Wally was squinting at his other hand.

"I think I cut it on the tree," Wally sounded genuinely confused. "How is that even possibly?"

He didn't bother trying to answer the question. At this point, Dick accepted that if there was a Wally, there was a way. If that meant scraping yourself on a tree, then so be it. He internally rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to mention trees were soft like pillows.

Dick shrugged, "Alright."

He sat on a nearby log, brushing his hands over his jeans. Dick put his hands into the coat pockets of his black coat, pulling out the hood of his red hoodie a little more so it was around his neck. He set the flashlight down, turning it off, while Wally left his on. The redhead stayed against the tree. Dick grabbed a plastic water bottle and his phone out from the small, drawstring bag on his back.

It said GOTHAM ACADMEY MATHLETE CAMP on it in bright letters, one of those cheap, throwaway bags that shouldn't last long but did. He turned the flashlight in his phone on, wincing at the light and setting it so the phone was facedown while the light was face up on the flatter part of the rock. Dick quickly put the clear plastic water bottle over the light, the light shining in the water acting as a lamp.

Wally smirked as he looked briefly at it. "Never stops being cool."

Dick smirked briefly too. He reached once again into the bag, pulling out another water bottle. This one he tossed to Wally, who used it to rinse the healing scrape on his hand (he didn't want bits of dirt healing in the wound – accelerated healing had its downsides) and took a drink from it.

"Are you even sure Wolf is still in the area?" Wally asked, munching on some granola bar he managed to magically produce from one of his pockets.

Dick blinked, having not noticed the granola bar being brought out. He was too lost in his own thoughts, and a little bit exhausted too. He gratefully accepted the second bar offered to him, eating it to get rid of the gnawing hunger in his own stomach.

"Yeah, probably." Dick said, "I mean, Wolf considered this place – the Cave – home. He wouldn't just leave."

Wally shrugged. "How do you know? Wolf could've taken a road trip to Canada or something and stayed out in the wilderness there."

Dick glared slightly at Wally.

Annoyed, he said, "I'm pretty sure most wolves have a territory of around sixty miles. I read it somewhere. Since Wolf considered the Cave home, he'd be close by."

"Somewhere? That's reassuring. And sixty miles?" Wally asked, staring at him incredulously. "I'm not walking sixty miles through the wilderness at night. I refuse."

"No one asked you to be out here," Dick argued.

"Um, you did," Wally pointed out.

He winced. Wally had him there.

"Still," Dick said, "I didn't force you to come. Some part of you wanted to."

"Yeah," Wally admitted, "Some part of me did."

A very small, very irrational part of Wally that he really needed to listen to less often. Silence stretched between the two friends. Eventually, Dick stood up and Wally straightened himself out from leaning against the tree. They quickly put away the water and Dick's phone, starting to walk back.

Wally, of course, broke the silence. "So, are you really giving up dating for the time being?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm not dating anyone right now."

The redhead looked at Dick, his emerald eyes flashing with doubt.

"But, dude," Wally tried to explain, "Really? You're like, known for dating a lot of people and having a generally awful love life."

Dick snorted. "Are you trying to say I'm a manwhore?"

"Would you punch me if I said yes?"

"No."

"Then yes. You are a bit . . . fickle when it comes to your women. You fall in love easily. OW! You said you wouldn't punch me!"

"I lied," Dick rolled his eyes, "And I punched your arm. It can't hurt that bad. Wimp."

Wally dramatically clutched his arm, pretending to be in pain as he shuffled forward, which resulted in him tripping over more tree roots than usual. Dick laughed at Wally's antics as they reached the back door of the cave.

They heard the howl out of nowhere. A very loud, very close howl that made them shut up immediately.

"Dude," Wally breathed out, having immediately stopped laughing.

Dick had stopped laughing too, both of them in silent shock. With a start, he realized he could see Wally's face more clearly.

"We need to go," Dick said, not very enthusiastically, "The sun's rising. We need sleep."

Wallly frowned at the reminder, suddenly more aware of how exhausted he was and grateful Saturday's existed. It meant no work for him or Dick today. After this little adventure, that meant Wally sleeping the whole day away. Something his Mom used to yell at him for.

Still, even as they went (reluctantly) inside, the two of them cast wistful, almost longing backwards glances at the woods.

* * *

"Here," The librarian dropped a stack of newspapers on the desk in front of her at the public library.

Damian, disguised in ripped jeans, a black sweatshirt, sunglasses, and one of Dick's baseball caps (he 'borrowed' it a while ago) eyed the stack of newspapers with distaste. He'd finally gotten the chance to go down the library like he'd been intending to for a while now. Alfred had been cleaning the Manor, and Bruce was at work. Damian took it upon himself to do a little research.

He didn't need Drake's computer skills to retrieve info. Damian had absolutely no desire to involve Tim. After all, libraries kept old newspapers. Damian guessed they would have newspapers from Dick's Robin days, so he'd asked the librarian for those newspapers. He just . . . didn't expect so many.

"Well?" The librarian asked, slightly impatient.

Damian picked up the stack of newspapers, stuffing them into his book bag, which he'd emptied to carry the newspapers. He grimaced as he put them into his book bag. So. Many. He really wasn't looking forward to the long hours ahead reading cramped writing. But they - Dick and Bruce and Alfred - weren't going to tell him everything, or anything in the case of Bruce. Damian had to take the hard way and do it himself.

Besides, a tiny part of him was still mad at Dick for leaving. And where was the fun in simply asking something?

"Don't ruin those," The librarian grunted, "And make sure you return them on time."

Damian sighed, mourning any lost future free time, and began to walk out of the library.

* * *

"C'mon, Sphere!"

Dick pushed the metal ball, attempting to get it to move or at least do _something_. Wally was leaning against the wall, eating a bowl of ice cream. He looked relaxed in a long sleeved green t-shirt and a pair of jeans along with his still muddy sneakers. He looked thoroughly amused by the acrobat's attempts. The two had decided to try to get Sphere working if they were going to search for Wolf (beyond the howl they heard a few nights ago, they hadn't had much luck finding Wolf).

It wasn't working too well. Sphere remained stubbornly inactive in the hanger, a little way away from the silent bioship.

"What if Sphere, like, died?" Wally wondered.

Dick stopped what he was doing, wiping his hands on his jeans and tank top.

"Wally. Seriously." Dick said.

"I'm serious!" Wally protested. "What if his wiring rusted on the inside or something?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure the people who created spear invented something to prevent that."

The speedster grumbled something unintelligible.

"What's that?" Dick asked, feigning surprise. "You have an idea to try, Wally? Be my guest."

Wally glared slightly at Dick, but sped away, placing his empty bowl in the kitchen, before speeding back. Dick stepped backwards to sit with his back to the wall. Wally alternated between lightly kicking Sphere and shoving her, or tapping her.

"So," Dick started, "You've dealt with moody teenager little brothers, right?"

Wally glanced over at Dick.

"Dude," he said, "I had to deal with thirteen-year-old you. I think that counts."

"Close enough," Dick decided. "How'd you talk to me when we fought?"

"We didn't really fight," Wally gave him an odd look.

"Wally."

"Fine," the redhead sighed. "I kind of had to corner you, because you'd avoid me as much as possible. You'd ignore me if I was there."

"Great," Dick muttered, thinking about Tim.

"Is this about one of the Bat bros?" Wally asked.

He shrugged. "Tim."

"Ah," Wally grimaced, "Well, I'm not the best to be giving advice about how to talk to teens."

"What do you mean?" Dick asked.

"Bart," Wallly answered, sounding frustrated. "He spends most of his time with the Titans, and when he's with me we fight."

Dick said reassuringly, "You'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Wally agreed half-heartedly, not really wanting to talk about it anymore.

He shoved Sphere once more.

"C'mon," he said, "Work! Work, you stupid piece of – OW!"

Dick burst out laughing when Sphere somehow shocked Wally, the metal surface sparking still after Wally jumped backwards, rubbing his arms.

"At least we know she still works," he said gleefully.

Wally glared at Dick. "Shut up."

* * *

"Red Robin!" Nightwing shouted. "Red. Robin!"

He was running on the roof tops, following Tim and attempting to talk to him. Dick had been unable to talk to Tim by showing up at Tim's apartment, or offering to drive Tim home from school. Tim successfully managed to avoid him practically everywhere.

At least until Dick decided it was a great idea to show up randomly tonight – dressed as Nightwing, of course – in Gotham. Batman would want to have a word with him, but considering it's the first time Dick's seen Tim since he yelled at him, the acrobat considered it worth it.

"Don't make me yell your real name!" Dick yelled out. Something in his voice must have made Tim believe the threat, because Red Robin turned around.

He glared at Dick, hissing, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," Nightwing challenged, smirking slightly. He lost the smirk, and said, "Besides, it's not like anyone's around to hear me."

He gestured to the clearly empty rooftop, slightly isolated from the surrounding rooftops, and not in use. It was one of the older, Gothic style work buildings that seemed to fill the older parts of the city.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just leave. I don't want to talk to you."

"Of course you don't," Dick agreed, "I wouldn't want to either. Which is why I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen."

Tim blinked, momentarily stunned. He'd expected Dick to ask him to talk with lots of pleading and puppy dog eyes. Something about the understanding tone he heard in Dick's voice gave him a pause. He considered it.

"Two minutes," Red Robin said, counting down the time in his head.

Dick floundered, panicking a bit as he searched for the right words to say. He hadn't gotten this far in his mental plan to corner Tim. He honestly expected Tim to have left him on the rooftop by this point.

"Uh," Dick said, very intelligently. Tim gave him an impatient look underneath the weird earless cowl.

"Ti – Red Robin, I shouldn't have done or said what I did. I'm sorry." He said honestly.

Tim was quiet for a moment.

"Sorry?" He burst out, keeping his voice down. Frustrated, Tim asked, "That's all you have."

Dick shrugged. "What am I supposed to say? 'Cause if there's some notecard that tells me that, I'd be happy to read it. But this is about more than that."

"What?" Tim asked, sounding defensive. His posture was tense, his face guarded and wary.

"I'm talking about Robin – I'm sorry for that fiasco, I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, I'm sorry," Dick broke off, growing agitated.

"I don't want to talk about that," Tim said stubbornly, "It's in the past."

"It's clearly not if it gets to you so much that you don't want to talk about it," Dick stated. "Look, Tim. I'm human. I make mistakes, okay? I have a breaking point, like I told Hood. I snap sometimes, and lately with everything that's been going on . . ." Dick's voice trailed off.

Tim blinked rapidly at the moisture in his eyes and the lump in his throat, every curse he knew running through his mind. Since he knew Jason Todd, he knew plenty.

He cleared his throat, telling Tim, "I shouldn't . . . shouldn't have snapped at you and him. It was unfair for both of you."

Dick chose not to speak, knowing Tim needed some time to think over his words. Red Robin appeared to be thinking. He hadn't fled the roof yet or punched him, so Dick considered that a good sign. He was about to start juggling his escrima sticks when Tim finally spoke.

"Then what's going on, Dick?" Tim asked him, his voice weary. "If it has you this stressed."

 _Ghosts,_ Dick wanted to say, _reminders of a past long gone._

A past that won't leave him alone, Dick thought with a tinge of bitterness.

He dimly noted in the back of his mind Tim didn't say anything about anything else he said – choosing, instead, to focus on the 'everything' he mentioned.

"Nothing," Dick forced himself to say, "Nothing at all."

Tim didn't really seem to believe him, but Dick grinned, even though he wasn't feeling particularly happy at the moment. He did that too often. Smiling when he wasn't happy. Tim believed it easily enough, confident that Dick was a bad liar and an even worse actor. Sometimes Dick suspected most of the others forgot he spent most of his early years in a circus, and the other years with the League and the Titans.

And them.

"Okay," Red Robin said, snapping Dick out of his thoughts.

It was Dick's turn to blink as he realized he'd gone silent for a moment or two, though the lapse in conversation didn't even last a full minute. He was getting too thoughtful lately. Too sentimental and mournful. It wasn't what he was used too for him, but it felt more real somehow.

Dick shook his head only slightly. Tim didn't question it, thankfully.

This talk was leaving him with too much to think about. Dick expected a headache, but there was none. Only a strangely light feeling, like a weight was gone now that he was talking to Tim for the first time in a while, not counting the shouting match. They hadn't talked, like actually talked, in forever.

Slightly sarcastic, Tim asked, "Anything else?"

Red Robin was edging towards the other end of the rooftop, ready to leave. Dick knew his time was up. They'd have to talk more, but not now.

"Yeah," Nightwing smiled once more, this one more genuine, "Lose the cowl. It looks weird."

He jumped off the roof with Red Robin shouting an insult behind him. Nightwing really shouldn't stay in Gotham for patrol, there was Bludhaven to think about, but he couldn't resist. It was only one night. He was already here. Batman hadn't popped up yet demanding he leave.

So Nightwing jumped, throwing caution and common sense to the wind as he eventually shot out his grapple and swung.

An elated feeling, one that made him want to laugh, bubbled up from within him, and Dick grinned, wild and free. The wind tore at his black hair, stinging his face with the cold and the sounds of the city surrounded him.

* * *

 **So, yeah. I took some liberties with the timelines and universes. Obviously, since this is a crossover. I definitely mentioned Arsenal and Starfire somewhere in Jason's POV, because I've heard about the Outlaws and I'm pretty sure they live together. Or at least they do in this story. Since I haven't read any of their comics, you can expect some things to be different.**

 **And yeah, Bart's somehow here. I'll work the details out later. But the idea of Wally being a mentor appealed to me, so he's Bart's mentor. Let me know if I've made any mistakes, especially with the timeline stuff. Oh, and I'll be writing in some of the other Bats the next chapter. I know it's been only Dick, Damian, Tim, and Jason so far, with appearances by Babs, Commish Gordon, Bruce, and Alfred. Though the others were mentioned in the very beginning.**

 **And that's all . . . Review.**


	7. Times Like These

**To all my readers, thank you so much! Merry Christmas! Here's your present.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

 _"Robin, Wally, hold still!" M'gann scolded the acrobat as she pressed a few buttons on the camera, which was hovering in mid-air._

 _Robin smirked, and Wally winked at M'gann._

 _"For you, anything," Wally joked._

 _Kaldur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Superboy frowned in his position next to Kaldur. Artemis, who stood in between Kaldur and the two pranksters, face-palmed._

 _"Can we just get this over with?" Artemis said._

 _"Hold on," M'gann promised, "I almost got it."_

 _The Martian flew over to the small group standing in front of the Zeta tube._

 _"Great," Robin said, hopping onto Wally's back piggy-back style. "Roy should be here in three, two, one . . . SPEEDY!"_

 _"SPEEDY!" Everyone else chorused._

 _Roy was frozen in shock; the expression on his face was priceless. The shock soon turned to murderous rage._

 _"WALLY! ROBIN!"_

* * *

Dick smiled a little wistfully as he looked at the photo, his dark blue eyes distant and his beat up jeans as faded as the flannel he wore over a grey T-shirt. The photo wasn't something he expected to stumble upon when he started tidying up his room in Wayne Manor. He'd taken the late shift last night, which meant no patrolling as Nightwing, but he had time today to stop by. He meant to just make his bed, shuffle some stuff around, and be done. Alfred would have a little break.

But when he stuck his hand between his dresser and the wall, his hand caught the photo, and he had pulled it out.

Caught off guard, he was left standing in his room, still staring at the photograph. It wasn't in bad shape. Frozen smiles looked back at him, and all of them wore civvies. His eyes wandered to the bright smile on his own face, that brief moment of joy that was captured in this photo. They didn't just look like team. They looked like friends, and they were some of the best.

Absent mindedly, he traced the faces of his friends, faces he only saw now in memory. The Titans were wonderful friends, but he felt isolated from them sometimes. They only knew him as Nightwing. They hadn't known him since the start. Well . . . Dick looked at Wally. Not all of his old friends were entirely gone.

He missed them. Now that he'd opened up that dam, let those memories he'd kept locked up burst forth, he realized how much he missed them. He saw them sometimes in the Titans when he went to visit the Tower.

He'd be reminded of it if he ran into Arsenal and Starfire with Red Hood, which was rare. But Arsenal was his best friend when Wally wasn't, and it didn't help that he looked like Red Arrow because Red Arrow had been Arsenal's clone. Seeing him often gave Dick a headache now.

Starfire, well he saw little pieces of M'Gann in her. Not as much as before, though, when they were younger. But it was in the naïve way she used to see the world, back when she first came, and the bright red of her hair. It was like seeing what M'Gann could've been, an older, grittier version, except M'Gann was a Martian.

Dick breathed from his spot in the middle of the his room, his back to the door now. He blinked rapidly. A moment. That was all he was asking for. One moment, at least, to breathe. Because even for him, it all got too much sometimes. Except grief didn't take a moment to get over. It wasn't something people would just get over. It was something that over time would become easier. Dick knew this, he knew this, because he'd been through it before.

Too many times, it felt like, with too many people. It was always him that seemed to be left behind.

Grief, he'd once heard, was a disease of the living.

He'd never allowed himself to mourn them, Dick supposed. That was probably why it hurt so much right now. Almost like he'd been standing in front of a freight train, and it hadn't hit him until now. He was left reeling from the shock of it, not expecting it to hurt that much. Losing someone always hurt.

"Master Richard?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Alfred," Dick turned, facing the elderly British butler.

He hastily wiped at his eyes, hoping Alfred wouldn't notice. But Alfred missed nothing. Dick noticed his eyes wandering to the photograph, and though his expression never wavered, his eyes shined with sympathy. Quietly, Alfred crossed the room and took the photograph. His light, clear blue eyes were suspiciously bright, and the lines in his face deepened, making him look older than before.

Almost guiltily, Dick remembered that Alfred had met the Team. Roy had come over countless times. He hesitated before placing his hand on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred reached up to pat his hand. They stood like that, and not for the first time was Dick grateful for Alfred's existence. The British gentlemen might as well have been his grandfather, and the closest person Bruce had to a father. He'd talked to Dick countless times, and helped him to understand Bruce.

Alfred held them all up, when they had no where left to go they turned to him.

"I want," Dick swallowed thickly, "I want to show this to Wally. I think he'd appreciate it. I'm seeing him later today."

Moment gone, all business once more, Alfred nodded sharply. "I think that will be wise, Master Richard. Would Master Wallace like some cookies?"

Dick nearly laughed. Even so, he cracked a small smile. Alfred still stubbornly refused to call Wally, Wally, and instead called him Wallace. Some things never changed.

"Yeah, probably," he said.

"Then I shall go prepare some, Master Richard," Alfred handed the photo back to him.

Dick carefully put the photo in his wallet, then put his wallet in the pocket of his jeans.

"Alfred?"

The butler (who was family, really) turned.

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you," Dick paused, struggling to find the words. A bit lamely he finished, "For everything."

Alfred looked at him critically. "I should think, Master Richard, that I might be able to prepare some tea while making the cookies. If you would like to join me, Master Richard, I am sure there will be some for you?"

This time, Dick really did smile. Having tea with Alfred was an old past time he hadn't done in years.

"Sounds great," he nodded.

* * *

The cookies Alfred had made and piled on two plates were on the coffee table in front of them, most of them gone courtesy of Wally.

He stared at the static playing on the TV in front of him. In the kitchen, the microwave beeped to signal the popcorn was done. Dick lounged on the couch. The photograph seemed to burn a whole in the pocket of his jeans. He played with the hem of his grey T-shirt thoughtfully, messing with the flannel he wore over it, then stopped as a thought struck him.

"You know," Dick started, then paused. He cocked his head to the side, twisting to look at Wally, "You know what I heard? Only the good die young, but the great last."

Wally nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I suppose that's true."

"Suppose," Dick murmured, laughing softly to himself.

Wally eyed the acrobat curiously. "Something funny?"

"Nothing," Dick glanced at Wally, looking back towards the screen. "Just – heard someone say that word to me recently. We do a lot of supposing, don't we? As crime fighters?"

The speedster smirked. "I _suppose_ we do."

Dick smiled, but the smile was empty. Wally noticed, but didn't voice his concern.

"It's crazy," he said, "When I think about how far we've come. I've been doing this" – he gestured vaguely with his hands, and Wally knew he meant the hero work – "for over a decade now."

"We've come a long way from the kids we used to be," Wally said quietly.

Dick closed his eyes. "I look around me and it's hard to believe how much everything has grown. This is so much bigger than us, Wally."

Wally smiled a little. "We are badasses, aren't we? Since we started this all. I mean, you've been a hero longer than some of the Leaguers."

Annoyed, Dick opened his eyes. "Dude. C'mon. I'm trying to be serious here."

"So am I," Wally countered, "Yes, we've come a long way. We've created icons recognized around the world. Sometimes, yeah, it does overwhelm me."

The acrobat shifted, restless. "Yeah."

He found it hard to explain in words what he felt. Because Dick couldn't shake the feeling that while they had gained so much, they had also lost part of themselves.

Careful not to spill the popcorn, Wally hurried over to the couch. "What's with the moodiness all of a sudden? Feeling nostalgic, old man?"

"I'm younger than you," Dick retorted, and Wally rejoiced at the small sign of life from his friend.

Dick wordlessly dug the photograph out of his pocket. He watched the mirth leave Wally's face as it fell.

"Oh."

"Mm," Dick agreed. "Oh."

Wally forced himself to tear his eyes away from Artemis in the photo. He looked at his friend with understanding as Wally furiously rubbed his eyes with the corner of his long sleeved shirt.

"This," Wally said, "Is exactly why we need a crappy movie marathon."

Despite Wally's words, they made no move to put the movie on. Instead, the two of them watched the static in silence.

* * *

Alfred had given him the call. Alfred had told Dick that Jason needed him. The British butler hadn't breathed a word of what happened, saying instead he promised Jason not to say anything. According to him, Jason was distressed, and likely to make reckless decision.

Maybe it just further proved how naïve he was, but Dick hauled himself out of his bed after he crawled into it when he finished his patrol. He wondered if he should go as Nightwing, but this wouldn't be a conversation between Red Hood and Nightwing. This would be a conversation between Dick and Jason with no masks to hide behind. So Dick merely threw on the jeans he wore earlier, and grabbed a dark hoodie. He threw on a dark coat. Out of habit, he grabbed and hid his utility belt on him.

It didn't take that much effort to grab his keys and drive his motorcycle to Gotham. After he stashed his bike, Dick tried the apartment Jason shared with Starfire and Arsenal. He knew Jason, or it least he felt he did, so Dick had an idea of where he would go. It didn't take that much skill to break into the apartment, and it didn't take that long to prove his suspicion correct. Jason wasn't there.

So Dick went to the next best place he could think of, and he ignored that fearful, hopeful part of him that wondered what it would mean if Jason wasn't there. He still relaxed when he saw the figure on the rooftop, the city lights outlining Jason's familiar profile. It was too easy to allow his footsteps to be heard, since he had no desire to be shot or stabbed for startling Jason. He noticed Jason's helmet was flung to the side of the rooftop.

"How'd you find me here?" Jason asked gruffly.

Dick shrugged. A bit sarcastically, he answered, "I _did_ show you this place."

"Not what I asked," Jason scowled darkly.

He frowned disapprovingly when he noticed the cigarette in Jason's hand. Jason noticed, and then proceeded to take a long drag from his cigarette, smirking around it.

Dick didn't step any closer. His breath was visible in the night air. He looked at the city, before turning back to Jason, who was getting over his surprise appearance.

Jason snorted when he saw the lack of Nightwing gear. "Dangerous, going out without a mask, Dickie-bird."

He shrugged. "I have my hood flipped up. It's dark out. It'll do." That was true. His hood helped. "Dangerous, using names in the field, Dickie bird."

"Field," Jason muttered. "Not everything's a goddamn battle like you and Bruce believe. This is - this is - I hate it."

For the first time, Dick noticed the beer bottle perched on the ledge of the roof. Terrific. In addition to smoking, Jason was likely drunk.

Gently, he said, "Do you mind telling me what happened? Alfred called me."

"Alfred," Jason snorted. "Should've known not to tell him anything - "

"Jason!"

Dismayed, Dick looked at Jason disbelievingly. Had Jason honestly just disrespected Alfred?

 _Alfred!?_

While part of him wanted to argue with Jason and defend Alfred, Dick knew it was no use arguing with a drunk. His bartending job had taught him that much.

"You don't meant that," was what he said instead. "He's Alfred."

"No," Jason agreed, "I don't."

Dick waited. He knew Jason needed to tell him on his own, he could see the pain that was etched onto his face.

"I missed," Jason said, his voice hollow. "He was young . . . Just trying to make it on the streets. And there was bastards, and one - and I - missed."

It didn't take much to piece together what happened. Some men jumped a boy, and Jason had stepped in to play his own version of hero and deal out his own kind of justice. Except Jason had killed the boy accidently. Dick didn't doubt for a second that the men were dead too.

"Jason Todd," Dick said sharply, making Jason's head turn towards him.

"What!?" Jason snapped back, determined to give as good as he got.

Dick couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this angry. Shivering in the cold air, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Sometimes," and he allowed hint of desperation that crept into his voice to show, "The lines get blurred."

Jason opened his mouth angrily, but Dick didn't even give him the chance to speak.

"Sometimes," Dick interrupted, and this time a note of hard steel was behind his words, "The only thing between you and them is the mask and them is the mask and cape."

Jason snorted. "I'm not really a hero, _Dick_ , and I don't wear a stupid cape."

"Leather jackets, then," Dick countered stubbornly.

He ignored the way his name was said as an insult.

"I remember when you died," Dick told Jason. "I remember what it felt like to lose you."

He watched as his little brother tensed, ready to open his mouth, most likely to argue that Dick had never cared about Jason. That was a lie and both of them knew it.

Part of him knew that telling Jason this would cause him pain, and a larger part of him knew this was something Jason needed to hear.

"And all I could think about," Dick paused, "Was that day. The one where I taught you how to ride the train cars, and the look on your face."

That was how he knew to find Jason here, and Jason knew it too. Because neither of them had forgotten that day down by the train yards.

"Get to the point," Jason snapped, bristling.

He always was a bit touchy when his death was mentioned.

"I'm sorry I was never there for you," Dick apologized, "I should have been."

Jason muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, _you were never there at all._

Dick pretended he didn't hear that. He was remarkably good at pretending when he needed to be.

"Jason," Dick stated, "Bruce Wayne is a bastard."

He waited for the open shock on Jason's face to fade.

"That's a given," he continued, "But by this point in your life, you should know that. So don't . . ."

Dick wanted to say, _stop ruining your own life by asking for more than what you know Bruce is capable of giving, and being hurt every time Bruce doesn't deliver._

Something told him those weren't quite the right words to say, or the ones Jason needed to hear.

" . . . Don't isolate yourself from the rest of us," Dick relaxed a little, "Because Bruce Wayne is a bastard, so that means sometimes the only people we have is each other."

Jason crossed his arms. "I'm not anti-social. I have Roy, Kory, and Tim."

"Me," Dick added, "You have me, too. Whether you like it or not."

He met Jason's answering glare, his jaw set stubbornly. If it took him his entire life, Dick was going to pound it into Jason's thick skull that the black sheep of the family was still wanted. And that through thick or thin, Jason had him to lean on.

"C'mon," he jerked his head, "You're drunk. I can drag your sorry ass back."

"Don't need your help," Jason muttered. "I'm not that drunk."

Skeptically, Dick watched as Jason snatched his beer and swayed a little on his feet.

"Oh, I'm sure," Dick couldn't keep a tiny bit of sarcasm out of his voice, "But I'm still helping anyways, all right?"

"Fuck off," Jason retorted. He managed to retrieve his helmet from the corner he flung it from, and shortly after Jason was gone.

Figuring that if Jason was sober enough to grapple away, Dick assumed he'd be able to find his apartment. That still didn't stop Dick from swinging by as he headed back to his own place, and he looked up at the building. Jason's home was dark, but Dick was able to sneak up the fireplace and place himself by one of the bordered up windows. He waited.

Satisfied when he heard loud crash followed by louder cursing from a familiar voice within, Dick climbed back down the fire escape and drove his motorcycle home.

* * *

Groggily, Dick answered his cell phone.

"'Lo?" He croaked out.

 _"Get your ass over here, Goldie. You said I have you? Fine. Prove it. Tim's moping and I'm not good with the feeling shit."_

With that, the caller hung up, and a now wide awake Dick Grayson sat up. The voice had undoubtedly belonged to Jason Todd. He frowned a little thoughtfully, thinking about what Jason said about Tim, and tried to ignore the little hopeful bubble.

It was hard. In spite of Jason's words, hostile tone, early morning call, and hanging up rudely without so much as a hello or a goodbye, Dick found himself involuntarily smiling. Maybe there was hope for Jason yet.

Once again, Dick hauled himself out of bed because of a call from a family member, and this time he was going to see Tim. Dick had to see him, even if he was the last person Tim wanted to see.

* * *

"So, what brings you to this rooftop?" Nightwing said. He flopped down beside Red Robin.

Startled, Red Robin turned to look at Nightwing.

He waited for Tim to respond, even if the response was " _Go away"._

To Nightwing's delight, Tim's response was not " _Go away"._

Instead, Tim masked his surprise with annoyance, staring at him like he was a particularly annoying bug who wouldn't stop buzzing in his ear.

"How's school?" Nightwing, to his credit, was persistent.

"Fine," Tim scowled. "Busy."

Dick brightened as he realized something. "You took my advice! You went with the domino."

He glanced at the rest of Tim's uniform, discreetly checking for injuries, and then he looked back at the new domino mask, one identical to the one Damian wore as Robin.

"What? Oh yeah," Tim said, like he'd just remembered he wasn't wearing the odd cowl. He yawned.

"Are you going to tell me the reason you're sitting on a rooftop instead of going back to get some sleep?" Nightwing looked at him.

"Are you?" Tim questioned. He brought up his green holo screen, checking for messages from his Titan friends.

Under his mask, Dick internally rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're not going to talk to me, will you talk to Red Hood?"

(Though Jason wasn't exactly in shape himself to talk to people)

A little more forcefully, Tim said, "No."

Something about the way he said it made Nightwing pause. For the first time, he noted the way Tim's jaw clenched, and the slight shake of his hands as he typed away on his green holo computer.

"You're coming back with me," Nightwing decided.

He stood up and stretched, while his aching joints groaned in protest.

"What - ? No," Tim protested, standing up and shutting down his wrist computer in one movement.

"Yes, you are. I'll tell Agent A where you are, and he'll tell Bruce. You can call out sick tomorrow at school," Dick reasoned, "You look like crap."

"Thanks," Tim said dryly. "And what about you?"

Nightwing smirked instead of his usual bright, cheery grin and Tim was taken aback.

"Relax," Dick said, "I got a master plan. Let's go."

"I'm not coming," Tim said stubbornly, even as he got out his grappling gun and made to follow Dick off the rooftop.

"Okay then," Nightwing nodded, and this time he did roll his eyes. "Let's go. I rode my bike here. You can ride with me. Unless you have yours with you?"

"Nah," Red Robin said, "Bats gave me a ride out."

A thought struck Tim.

"Hey, since I look like crap can I ride your bike?"

"Hell no, little brother or not."

"But you taught me to drive!"

" . . . Exactly."

Bickering still, the two grappled away, Tim following Nightwing. And he would never admit it, but a tiny, small knot of tension twisted inside him relaxed slightly.

* * *

"Thanks for patrolling with me," Tim said quietly, sitting on the edge of the roof with one leg bent and the other dangling over the ledge.

He glanced at Nightwing, who was standing and looking out over Gotham.

Dick shrugged, a half-smile on his lips as he spoke, "Thanks letting me patrol with you."

"It was the least I could do," Tim shrugged, "After you let me stay at your place last night. You sure Batman won't say anything to you about patrolling here a second night in a row?"

"Nah," Nightwing snorted. "Just as long as I don't patrol here tomorrow. Besides, we patrolled 'Haven the first half of the night."

Things were still a little awkward between them, but there was progress. Dick was happy to be spending time with Tim again and he agreed to patrol with Red Robin as Nightwing. It'd been too long since the two of them had gone on patrol together. He hadn't thought too much about it when he agreed to go. Maybe that was his problem.

Either way, they were here now, so it didn't exactly matter _how_ they got here.

"So what happened with you and Red Hood the other day?" Nightwing asked. He cringed, but managed to hide it.

Perhaps that wasn't the best subject he could have chosen. He had just gotten back on good speaking terms with Tim again. Luckily, Tim ignored Dick's foot-in-the-mouth moment.

"Nothing," Tim said dismissively, "I just - needed to talk, and he wasn't in the best mood."

"He's usually not in the mood," Dick commented without thinking, even though he knew why Jason wasn't in mood this time.

Tim snorted, a small smile on his face.

His heart warmed a little at seeing his little brother, who was always so serious, relaxing a bit. Smiling was good for Tim.

A grumpy looking Damian Wayne melted out of the shadows.

"Nightwing, did . . . What is he doing here?" Damian, dressed in his Robin gear, glared at Tim as if willing the older boy to drop dead.

Tim scoffed, reaching for the bow staff on his belt, glaring at Damian. "Well, I do live here."

"Oh, so you live on a roof in the middle of the city?"

Nightwing coughed.

"Hey, Mini-Bat," he tried, "We're going to get some ice cream."

He caught the subtle lifting of the boy's shoulders and head. Dick could practically see the gears click in Damian's head as the boy remembered the ice cream place Dick took Damian to when they patrolled as Batman and Robin.

"Wanna come with?"

Robin jerked his head at Red Robin. "Will he be coming?"

"Duh," Tim interrupted before Dick could say anything. "He did say 'we're' as in 'we are'."

"Enough," Nightwing rolled his eyes. "It's just ice cream. It won't kill you to sit on a rooftop and eat. I'll even sit between you, okay?"

Damian and Tim glared at him.

* * *

Sitting on the roof top edge (between Tim and Damian), Nightwing couldn't keep the faint smile off of his face as he ate his ice cream. Damian sat on his right, eating his own ice cream and Tim sat his left, slowly eating his. To Dick's delight, Damian and Tim had discovered they liked the same kind of ice cream.

Something which Dick had already known. He swore those two had more in common than they knew, or were willing to admit.

There was a quiet thud and soft footsteps on the roof top. Beside him, Damian tensed. Tim glanced behind him, mouth opening in surprise when he saw the new comer.

Dick turned around, snorting when he saw Red Hood with his arms crossed, standing there in all his leather jacket, gun toting, cargo pants wearing glory with combat boots and a knife to boot. He looked considerably better than he had a two nights ago.

"You fuckers got ice cream," Jason grumbled, moving to sit beside Tim on the edge of the roof top, "And you didn't tell me."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Take mine, I'm done with it anyways."

Not quite a lie, but Dick was perfectly okay not eating all of his ice cream if it meant Jason sat with them. Making sure this was all right, Dick discreetly glanced at Tim, who caught his eye and nodded slightly. He relaxed a little.

"Gladly," Jason said, his smirk revealed when he took off his red helmet, a familiar black domino mask on his face.

Dick handed his bowl over, and Jason grabbed it. Tim blinked at the exchange, but relaxed when he realized there wasn't any immediate danger of a fight breaking out. Damian was looking over at Jason in disbelief, though he couldn't see him that well from his position. Taking advantage of the situation, Dick grabbed Damian's spoon and quickly stole a bite of the boy's ice cream.

Hissing like a cat but making no move to stop it since the damage was done, Damian scowled. Tim poorly hid his smirk by shoving another spoonful of ice cream on his mouth, and Jason mumbled something around his mouthful of ice cream that made Dick crack a grin. He was content sitting on the roof with the three of them, and the world around them seemed to stop.

"You know," Tim started, "This kind of tastes familiar."

Hiding a smirk, he said, "I wonder why."

Tim scraped the bottom of his bowl for the last bit of ice cream. Jason and Damian listened with mild interest as they ate their own ice cream.

Dick waited for Tim to make the connection. It didn't take long.

Eyes widening, Tim said, "This tastes like the ice cream you used to get me when you watched me."

"Yeah," Dick said, his half-smile telling Tim he got it right. "I'd feel guilty when I had to leave you to go out as Robin, so I'd sneak away here and get you ice cream."

Tim could almost picture it in his mind, a younger Dick Grayson grabbing a container of ice cream and stealthily slipping away as quick as he'd come.

"How'd you even find this place?" Tim wondered, sneaking a glance at his older brother.

The acrobat hummed, "It was years ago, back when I was Robin, on one of my first patrols. I helped out the guy who owns the place – he's a cranky old guy, but he has a good heart. He lets me have free ice cream."

"Oh," Tim said, even though part of him was thrilled at learning this new tidbit of information.

Damian paused mid-bite, mentally frowning. In all the times he had gone with Nightwing to the ice cream place, he had never thought to ask why Nightwing was allowed free ice cream in the first place. He assumed it had something to do with Nightwing being Nightwing. But it actually had to do with Robin. He made a mental note to speak with the owner of the ice cream place.

Jason snorted. "And what did you have to give him in return?"

"What?"

"What," Jason repeated, "did you have to give him in return?"

Understanding now, Dick shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just a promise to stay alive and take care of myself each time I come in."

Which he always promise. He watched his brothers with amusement as they debated on whether or not to believe him.

Doubtful, Jason glanced at Tim and Damian to see if they were buying it to. Seeing they believed it, he shrugged.

"Fine by me," Jason said, "If it means free ice cream."

Dick hid his smile.

* * *

"Did you get it?" Steph whispered, "You got it, right?"

The pair had been patrolling together when they noticed four familiar people sitting on the edge of roof. Thanking sheer dumb luck for this golden opportunity, Spoiler had turned to Black Bat, who wordlessly got out her phone and snapped a few photos. The two of them quickly retreated to a roof top a few streets over, managing to knock out a would-be mugger on the way.

Cass managed to look at Steph annoyed even though the blonde couldn't see her face, since Cass was dressed in her Black Bat uniform.

"Can I see?" Steph said, bouncing a little as she swung her arms back and forth.

Rolling her eyes (not that Steph could tell) Black Bat handed the phone over.

In the picture Cass had quickly snapped, Jason was eating his ice cream looking almost peaceful, Tim had a smirk on his face with his spoon stuffed in his mouth, Damian was looking at Dick disgruntled, and Dick had cracked a smile, still holding the spoon he stole from Damian (now ice cream free).

Steph smiled. "Cute. Though don't you dare tell any of them I said that. We're totally showing this to Batgirl."

Cass snorted.

* * *

 **It's a little longer than 4,000 words, but I worked hard on this chapter. I'm proud of it. I didn't want to take anything else out. So just consider the extra 1,000+ words another Christmas present. Again, MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

 **If you don't celebrate Christmas, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, as usual.**

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He walked into the Cave smelling like smoke and stiff all over. Dick wasn't really surprised when Wally was waiting for him in the kitchen with a scowl on his face. He tried not to roll his eyes, and braced himself. He was fine. Sure, Dick smelled like smoke and might be hiding a limp, but his heart was beating. He'd made sure everyone had gotten out of that building alive, too.

"Dude," Wally said seriously, "You're an idiot. The size of that explosion?"

"I'm aware," Dick said dryly, "I was kind of there. Why does it matter?"

He realized it was the wrong choice of words the moment Wally's face started going red.

"You need to be more careful with your life," Wally said. He was too agitated to stay still, so the redhead paced in front of the old green couch.

Dick rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, mom," he said, "It's just a scratch."

He meant it, too. He felt calm for someone who had just been a building that sort of blew up. Desmond had used the bombs to collapse the supports when Nightwing had raided the outpost, which had been one of the abandoned building in Bludhaven. Unluckily for him, some news crews had been hunting for a story and had come when the police reported gun shots.

"Scratch?" Wally repeated incredulously. "The building nearly collapsed on top of you!"

Wally wasn't sure if he wanted to sob or throttle the acrobat for his carelessness.

"But I'm in one peace," Dick threw his arms up into the air. "I even dragged the thugs out."

Wally glared at his best friend. Dick just didn't get it.

"Do you have a death wish?" Wally shouted. "Do you have any idea what it's like to keep expecting a phone call from Barbara that you're dead?"

"Like you're one to talk," Dick protested, "Just last week in Central you ran into a burning building."

"That's different," Wally scowled, "That didn't have a bomb in it."

"Well what do you want me to do?" Dick retorted. "Ask Desmond not to try and kill me?"

He waited for the answer, but Wally shook his head.

"I can't talk to you right now," Wally muttered. He walked out.

Thrown off balance, Dick stood still and watched him go. He tried to tell himself it didn't hurt to see Wally walk away from him. He tried telling himself it was only a matter of time before Wally realized how much of a wreck he was, even if no one else could see it. It was only one more lie added to the long list of lies Dick had told himself over the years. Sometimes he even believed the lies, because it was easier than admitting the truth. Though he wouldn't ever admit that.

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Dick laid down on the couch feeling restless after the fight with Wally. He wondered if the others noticed his absence, and then decided that he didn't really care. He'd turned off his cell phone earlier to avoid Wally in case he called. Dick had stopped fuming at Wally's words, but they still stung.

They'd been doing so well. Really. But what happened over a few years couldn't automatically be undone, and it was inevitable that it would happen. Dick and Wally had a fight, and at the end of it he was left wondering what they had even been fighting about.

He stared up at the ceiling, enjoying doing nothing. He didn't really feel like doing anything. He should probably go to his place. He probably shouldn't be hanging out at the Cave as often as he did now. He couldn't help it. It had become his safe haven in the way few places ever did. A part of him appreciated that the Cave was abandoned, dusty, and forgotten. Secretly, Dick was attached to the place because the Cave reminded Dick of himself. He couldn't seem to stop himself from coming back.

At some point, he feel asleep, and when he woke up he was kind of grateful his boss had bullied him into taking the day off. He sat up on the couch, wincing at his sore muscles. Dick tried rolling his shoulder a bit, massaging the muscle. His black hair was a mess and Dick's eyes were redder than usual, and he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He pinched the bride of his nose and yawned widely.

Dick slumped back on the couch and rested his head on the back of the couch. He closed his eyes. The conversation – and that was being generous – with Wally kept replaying in his mind like a broken record.

Of course, the world couldn't let him have a moment's peace. He was Dick Grayson.

"Dude," Wally said, "For someone trained by Batman, you're entirely too predictable sometimes."

Dick fought the urge to chuck a Batarang or a Wing Ding at the voice. When he realized the voice belonged to Wally West, he briefly reconsidered the idea before dismissing it. It wouldn't help matters even if it would make him feel a little better.

He lifted his head to see Wally standing in the hallway that led to the Zeta tubes. Dick berated himself for not knowing the speedster was there sooner. The two stared at each other, each of them unwilling to make the first move and not really knowing what words they could say that could bridge the gap years that time had created.

It wasn't long before Wally spoke up. He never could stay silent, Dick reflected. When the Team was still together, he used to joke that Wally loved the sound of his own voice. Artemis had offered to get Wally headphones and a recorder so Wally wouldn't bother her just to hear his own voice.

"It matters because I care," Wally sighed. "You need to care about your own self every once in a while, Dick. And if you won't, I will. You spend so much time caring about everyone else. Just, get some sleep, eat something that isn't microwavable for once."

Dick knew Wally didn't say what he was always afraid of: that Dick would end up six feet under before Wally. Dick didn't dare tell Wally that he believed it. It was an unspoken rule between them.

Still, "I don't have a death wish," Dick stated quietly.

He wished his voice sounded more confident than it actually was. His words didn't even convince himself, but the life he lived meant he didn't have a chance of living very long. Dick knew he wouldn't give it up. Not until his dying day.

Wally sat down on the couch. "I know," he said quietly, "But I've lost a lot of people. I don't think I could lose you again. I think it was worse when you were gone because you were still alive."

Dick closed his eyes again and leaned back. "I know the feeling."

A short, simple statement that held so much meaning that Wally understood. He'd lost so many people over the years. Death was an old friend, trailing him like a faithful dog. His family was murdered, the Team murdered, other heroes he knew murdered. People he was too late to save who died in front of him. Wally was a constant.

It was hard to admit, even to himself, that he couldn't really picture a world without Wally. Even when he'd been pissed at his best friend and they weren't talking, Dick had checked to make sure Wally was at least alive. He'd spent too many nights staring at the phone and telling himself to let go of his pride, to make the first move. Dick had a sneaking suspicion that Wally had pretty much done the same thing.

What a pair of fools they made. He could almost hear Artemis hissing, _"Idiots!"_ in the background.

"Remember that one time," Wally paused, "That me, Roy, and Kal were going to pick you up from school?"

Dick frowned. "Which one?"

"It was the one with that little shit Matt," Wally frowned at the memory.

He was still able to remember the increasing panic as Roy, Kaldur, and Wally waited for Dick outside the school, until they hadn't been to stand waiting anymore so they left to go find them. He could still see the image of Dick lying on the floor against the lockers with a bloody nose as Matt taunted him.

Dick remembered, too. He remembered fighting the instinct to knock Matt when the other boy had broken his nose. He remembered the remarks that he was a worthless gypsy rat. Nothing he hadn't heard before. Matt wasn't exactly creative.

"Yeah," Dick frowned, too. "Why?"

Wally shrugged. "We hadn't really known Kaldur then, and we'd brought him along as part of junior hero bonding. Roy drove that awful red truck that he'd jacked from GA since he wasn't supposed to be drive."

Dick smiled, shaking his head. "I remember that truck."

"But anyways," Wally continued, "Kaldur looked like he would end Matt. Me and Roy would've helped. After Matt saw us and ran, we took you back to the truck. You were lying in the back asleep while Roy, Kaldur, and me sat up front. We talked."

"I don't remember that," Dick said curiously.

Wally said, "You were asleep. I could've drawn a mustache on you and you wouldn't have noticed."

"You did," Dick pointed out. "Complete with goatee."

Dick smiled a little at the memory, because he'd had to go to the clinic with that mustache. Leslie hadn't been able to keep a straight face and took a picture for his contact photo in her phone.

"Oh," Wally said, a ghost of a smirk on his face, "Right. Well, that was the moment that the three of us decided to watch out for you. We never told you because we knew you'd hate it, but you were the youngest."

Wally paused. He waited expectantly for the response, his silence a cue for Dick to say something.

"You're right," Dick sighed, "I would've been pissed."

"Well," Wally explained, "That was the moment we decided to watch out for you. And I know they're gone, but it's still my job to watch out for you now. For them, for myself, and I have a feeling they'd both be disappointed at us in how we've behaved."

Grudgingly, Dick accepted it with a short grunt.

"I think I get what you mean," Dick ran a hand through his hair. "We haven't had each other in our lives for a while now, so now we have to get used to that again. I'm used to being the one protecting everybody, and you've taken on more responsibility with Bart and Flash."

It was hard to find the words to try and communicate that. It felt even more difficult to say it out loud and explain it. Communication – something Dick hadn't really tried in a while. He was too used to dealing with his problems on his own until Alfred and Leslie smacked him upside the head and told him to take a break.

"Don't remind me." Wally grimaced. "That kid is gonna drive me nuts. I miss being Kid Flash, you know? When I didn't have to worry about messing up because Uncle Barry had my back if I did. Now I have to watch out for someone else's back and clean up any messes."

"I was terrified when I was Batman," Dick admitted, "Because I had to watch out for Damian."

As Batman, for the first time Dick had been able to truly appreciate how stressed Bruce must've felt when Dick had worn the Robin uniform.

"Great," Wally said, "Glad we understand each other."

They could've gone on. They could've talked about his casual mention of being Batman when at thirteen, he'd made it very clear that nothing short of an apocalypse would get him into the Bat suit, and even then it would be reluctant. He'd created Nightwing to be different than Batman, after all.

They could've talked about Wally, and his issues with Bart which Dick suspected were largely downplayed by the speedster so Wally could more on the acrobat's issues. Wally, Dick knew, had the bad habit of ignoring his own problems in favor of the problems of others.

He could've asked Wally to talk about the times Dick found him in the souvenir room staring at the green arrow that was a little battered, but still in relatively good condition. He should let Wally know that in the same way Wally was there for him, Dick would be there for Wally. He hoped the speedster understood that.

But they were both exhausted, and this wasn't the time or the place. Especially since they just made up after a fight and came to a truce. Wally would worry about Dick's reckless tendencies, and Dick would have to learn to accept someone worrying about his health.

If Wally tried to assign him a curfew though, they would have words. He was perfectly capable of going without sleep for a day.

"Where's the remote?" Wally yawned. "Let's watch something."

Dick got more comfortable against the armrest. He snatched a blanket off the back of the couch.

"I think it's by you," Dick said. He yawned, "We're becoming couch potatoes. I should probably go on patrol."

His sore muscles protested that idea.

"We get enough exercise," Wally tried to shrug as he dug around in the couch cushions, "And you should technically still be on bed rest anywa – ha, got it!"

He held up the remote triumphantly, and Dick rolled his eyes. He suppressed his laughter as he shook his head, and wondered when the last time he felt this relaxed was. He felt at home.

"Just find a movie," Dick told Wally.

* * *

"Grayson, get some rest," Amy Roarbach, his partner, told him. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips ready to shut down any protests.

 _Get some rest_ , seemed to be the only thing people had to say to him now. He rested yesterday. He rested last night. He needed to work, or likely risk losing his job with the BPD.

"M'fine," Dick protested.

His head dropped again when his eyes slid shut. He needed to stay awake. The building bombing hadn't exactly helped his still healing gunshot wound to the head. Well, it was really a gunshot, Dick mused, it just grazed his head. His eyes glazed over.

"No, you're not," Amy snorted. "You've still got that head injury your clumsy ass gave yourself. Go home."

Dick wondered if he'd ever been called clumsy before in his life, and he smiled tiredly.

"I'll go. Have a good afternoon," Dick told her.

He stood up and grabbed his keys off his desk, a little relieved to be leaving all the reports on his desk behind. Walking to the locker room, Dick quickly used his keys to open his locker and switched into jeans and a brown jacket. He made his way out of the precinct, the route so familiar to him now he could walk it blindfolded, and waved goodbye to people he knew.

They either greeted him back, or in the case of one particular grumpy police officer scowled and drank their coffee. Dick had made sure to smile and wave cheerily at that particular officer, who rolled his eyes at his cheek.

As he entered the street, the sun warmed the back of his black hoodie Dick meandered back to his apartment. He stood inside after closing the door, and for the second time in less than a day Dick really didn't know what to do. Napping was probably a bad idea. Dick quickly fished his phone out of his jeans. He thumbed through his contacts and grinned when he found the right one.

It didn't take long for him to pick up. _"Grayson?"_

Dick knew Damian couldn't see him, but he smiled anyway. "Hey, Dami. How're you?"

 _"I am in less than ideal condition,"_ and Dick didn't have to see Damian to know he was scowling.

He frowned when he realized how stuffy Damian's voice was. "Are you sick?"

 _"Do not be daft,"_ Damian sneezed. _"I do not get sick."_

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Right."

 _"Father and I were in the sewers last night pursuing Croc,"_ Damian admitted. _"They are infested with diseases."_

"Oh," he laughed, "I hated that place. I remember Fridays usually being rough. I'll come over and we can hang out."

 _"Hmph,"_ Damian said, though Dick noticed he didn't make any protests.

"Great, be there soon."

* * *

"Where were you yesterday?" Damian inquired.

The only part of Damian that was visible was the boy's face, because Damian was hiding under a mountain of blankets. Dick had put the Nightwing blanket he'd gotten Damian as a joke on top of the pile. Damian had half-snarled and batted his hand away when Dick tried to ruffle his hair, but he had left it on, much to Dick's satisfaction.

"Huh?" Dick looked over, tearing his eyes away from the cartoon. "Oh, I was hanging out with Wally."

Which was true. A whole day of resting. Leslie and Alfred would be proud, but Dick guessed she wouldn't have approved of the arguing.

"Wally?" Damian repeated.

"Uh, Flash," Dick said.

The boy frowned, but didn't saying anything. With Dick, he didn't need to. Dick talked enough for the both of them. In an effort to change the subject, he decided it would an excellent idea if he talked about patrol.

"Patrol's been rough recently," Dick blurted out randomly.

Damian wasn't impressed. He pulled the large brown fuzzy blanket around him tighter.

He said as casually as he could, "I've been a little tired and, uh, the building the other day didn't help."

"The building the other day," Damian deadpanned, "You mean the one with the bombs that collapsed in Bludhaven."

He winced, and cursed himself for putting his foot in his mouth.

"Yeah," Dick said, and pretended to be focusing on the cartoons."

"You shouldn't be doing so much," Damian admonished. "It's only been a little over a month."

Was everyone out to get him? This sounded suspiciously familiar.

Dick looked over from where he lounged in the chair.

"Did you call me here just to give me a lecture on my health habits, Dami?" Dick asked with a half-smile to let Damian know he was joking.

Attempting to use humor as a distraction didn't work well.

Damian crossed his arms and glared. He said flatly, "You called me."

Dick assumed that meant yes and Damian was too stubborn to admit it. Dick had suspected as much when he'd gotten the call to stop by, but since he had to drop by a file on an upstart gang in Bludhaven looking to expand into Gotham he'd agreed to come.

"You don't need to worry about me," Dick said reassuringly.

Damian frowned. He said curtly, "You're an idiot with brain damage from being shot in the head."

"Technically, it grazed my head," Dick said, "And there wasn't any serious damage."

Dick ran a hand through his hair carefully finding the stitches from where Strange's bullet had grazed his skull. Truthfully, he'd sort of forgotten he had the injury. Really, only the headache he occasionally got reminded him. It wasn't his first injury and it wouldn't be his last. It probably didn't even make Top Ten on his list of serious injuries Alfred had somewhere for future blackmail, though no doubt Alfred would deny it.

His black hair, which was long enough to touch the back of his neck, had been cut a bit when he was being stitched back up. The result was one side being slightly shorter, and the uneven length bothered him. He was loathe to get a haircut though, because Dick loved the feeling of the wind in his hair as he jumped and flipped from building to building. He hadn't really bothered or noticed his hair, but it was a surprise to feel just how long it had gotten.

"I'm fine," Dick smiled lopsidedly, "Really. It's just patrol. I've gone on one before. It's not even the first one I've been on since . . ."

Damian scowled.

Right. Maybe wasn't the best thing to mention. He quickly backtracked.

"I'll be in bed by one," Dick promised as he crossed his fingers. He paused. "Maybe two by the latest."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Damian asked cautiously. He eyed Dick's crossed fingers like he'd rather cut them off. Damian was probably going nuts just sitting on the couch.

Damian worrying about him wasn't something Dick was expecting. It wasn't a side of Damian he got to see too often. Usually, Dick was the one worrying about whatever reckless situation Damian had gotten himself into to prove himself.

"As well as can be expected," Dick shrugged. "Leslie gave me the all clear."

Well, no, not really. When he'd first tried to get out of the stupid hospital bed barely two days after, she'd pointed a finger threateningly at him and said, _so help me Richard Grayson, if you get out of that bed –_

Or something along those lines. He didn't pay much attention after she said his name. When she used Richard, he knew he was on Leslie's shitlist, but then again Dick was always on Leslie's shitlist, so it didn't terrify him as much as it used to. Dick had never really been one to stay in bed injured. Something he probably learned from Bruce. It drove Leslie mad. Really, after all these years, Leslie should expect it by now.

Now, Leslie would grudgingly accept that Dick would be back out as Nightwing a little more than a month after a bullet grazed the side of his head, but she wouldn't be happy. For his day job, Dick had explained the bandages with some excuse that he hit his head. It wasn't his best excuse for an injury related to his vigilante work, but his boss hadn't been interested, so he hadn't been forced to make up details, thankfully.

His coworkers had also bought it and had been all too happy to force him to eat food and rest. They offered to cover his shifts and hadn't allowed him to refuse, even if Dick only had light duty because of the head injury. He wasn't too fond of the headaches that came with his injury, but he dealt with them.

"It's okay, Dami," Dick lightly squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I'll come back."

Damian wrinkled his nose. "Not until you get a haircut, Grayson."

Dick burst out laughing.

He ruffled Damian's spiky hair. "Whatever you say, Dami."

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 **So I'm actually pretty happy about how this chapter has turned out. I've rewritten it a few times in a few ways because nothing felt right. I'm sorry for the long wait. Nearly four months has gone by pretty guilty. I feel really guilty about not updating sooner, but life. I'm really sorry.**

 **As for Dick and Wally's little spat, well, they weren't on the best terms with each other for years. I don't believe that goes away overnight and everything is alright. So then that idea was born in my brain and I started writing it and yeah. This chapter happened.**

 **Review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Making my way downtown, walking fast, *drops a chapter*, walking faster.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

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Damian had taken over one of the little used rooms in Wayne Manor that had most likely once been a study. The white sheets he had ripped off the furniture were bunched up on an ugly armchair which he had shoved into the corner of the room. The wind whistled outside the window, and the glow of the computer screen lit up Damian's pale face, his hair blacker in the dark light and his eyes a darker blue.

He stared at the information on the screen. It was as if Dick – Robin – Nightwing, had always been around, and he'd found little to nothing about Batman before then, or really that much about Robin. The newspapers Damian had gotten from the library were honestly more useful than the internet. He doubted the librarian would approve of what Damian had done to them, however. On the low, heavy wooden table the newspapers were scattered, and various photographs and articles had been cut out of them. Certain sections were highlighted.

Damian had tacked them up on a board, which was pushed against the wall, right next to the door. He was trying to form a chronological timeline of events in an attempt to piece together the truth. Maybe it would be smarter to simply ask Dick, but something told him he wouldn't get all the answers. This way, at least, Damian got to practice his detective skills. He thought that maybe Dick would approve.

Damian was loathe to admit it, but he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. He eyed the computer screen thoughtfully. His computer skills were sufficient, that was true, but it was also true that Damian knew someone whose skills were better.

Damian cringed.

* * *

Nightwing wondered if bad guys had any originality anymore. It was always a warehouse. Weren't there other, less suspicious large, abandoned spaces for them to use? Maybe warehouses were just more convenient. The security guards at Gotham Harbor who guarded the warehouses with semi-valuable items didn't care for the old ones at all. Gotham Harbor itself was a relatively large area with not enough security, making it easy to break into.

He tracked a lead on a major drug deal and ended up Gotham, which seemed to happen a lot. All roads lead to Gotham.

Sitting around babysitting a bunch of hired thugs wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing, babysitting these thugs, and he'd been in plenty of embarrassing situations before. And yet, there he was, dressed up as Nightwing, and sitting up top of one of the numerous crates piled in an abandoned warehouse. Stephanie, dressed as Spoiler, was leaning casually against one of the other crates.

It had the words COMBUSTIBLE on it and the blonde hero looked bored enough to set it on fire just to see what would happen.

The thought made him smirk. He glanced over at the group tied up back to back on the floor, taking their sweet time waking up. Nightwing and Spoiler both needed information from the men, which was the only reason they were still here and the cops weren't here. And since the men had been babbling in some language during the fight, they'd called Batgirl to help translate.

Over the communicator, she'd berated them and called them clueless, muttering curses. She was less than happy about heading out to meet them. Still, Barbara knew a few languages, and might be able to help them out despite grumbling. Nightwing knew his fair share, but it'd been a while since he used any of them. He'd forgotten about some. Except Batgirl was taking a while getting to them, so they were stuck waiting for her.

Hence the babysitting. He swung his legs back and forth on top of the crate, humming a tune under his breath. Recognizing it, Steph hummed along with him, and he stopped. Nightwing raised an eyebrow, and she smiled mischievously.

Nightwing scrunched up his nose. He started humming again and looked around, absently noting little details, like the shadows the flashlights made on the walls when they hit the crates. It made the warehouse look creepier, the shadows more threatening, and he tried to shake the feeling that Barbara was about to appear out of nowhere, scaring the hell out of him just for kicks.

He picked up the green duffel bag one of the men had carried, taking note of the drugs within, and started rummaging through it just for something to do. Spoiler watched him, her patience decreasing by the minute as she shifted from foot-to-foot, arms crossed.

"She should be here by now," she said, frowning in either concern or annoyance.

Nightwing couldn't really tell which.

He shrugged. "She'll get here when they get here. Relax; she's probably run into some crime on the way here."

"Make that some crimes, plural," Batgirl said, making an appearance.

Spoiler jumped. Nightwing was able to control has reaction, visibly unaffected but his heart pounding. He'd heard her footsteps a few seconds before she came in.

"What do you need?" Batgirl questioned.

"Translator," Steph jerked her head towards one of the thugs. "I need the location of one the arms deal going down tomorrow. I think it's Hungarian . . . ?"

When Batgirl looked at him, Nightwing shrugged.

"You're helpful," she sighed.

He half-smiled and lifted his hands up. "I've been tracking this on my end. Ran into Spoiler staking the place out on the roof top and we decided a team up would be perfect."

Barbara crossed her arms.

"Wonderful," she stated.

Batgirl was just full of good cheer today. He stuck his tongue out at her and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Let's go." Batgirl walked over to the thugs and hauled one of the most coherent ones onto his feet.

"Did you guys put zip ties on the other ones and call the cops for a pick up?" Batgirl checked.

He was a little insulted she even asked.

"Yup," Nightwing swung his arms as he stood up, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Done and done."

Interrogations, all of them had found, went a lot quicker if the subject being questioned was being dangled over a roof edge into the harbor. The man was screaming, and the garbled words were almost familiar to Nightwing. He tilted his head to the side curiously, trying to hear the words better.

Batgirl yanked him back off the ledge. The man shook and spat, muttering curses to himself with his greasy dark hair disheveled from hanging upside down. She ignored him and faced Spoiler and Nightwing. Batgirl explained that she was a little rusty but from what she could tell the deal what happen after dinner. He tried to pay attention, but his mind was still trying to work out the garbled words the man had said and why they sounded so - familiar.

It clicked, then.

 _"Hasn't your mother ever taught you manners?"_ Dick asked with a raised eyebrow. _"Look, could you tell us the time and place of the deal? Please?"_

Batgirl and Spoiler paused mid-conversation to stare. The man's reaction was comical. He looked as if he'd been slapped. It didn't take long for him to recover. A new string of curses and threats poured out of the man's mouth, and Dick sighed. He'd even said please.

 _"Hard way it is,"_ Nightwing murmured as he walked over to the man.

Frozen with fear, the man stared at the approaching vigilante with wide, muddy brown eyes. Nightwing grabbed the man's ankle and hoisted him over the ledge. He grunted at the weight, but luckily the guy wasn't particularly hefty. Instead, he was a small, shifty looking fellow, about a head shorter than Barbara. There wasn't much of him to hold over the ledge.

 _"My arm is getting tired,"_ Dick called out to the man. " _How about you tell me the time and place, and I put in a good word for the police, no?"_

 _"G-go to hell!"_

He shook his head at the less-than-cooperative thought. Looking over his shoulder at a gawping Spoiler and a slack-jawed Batgirl, he jerked his head to tell them to silently come over. Batgirl immediately straightened and walked over silently. Dick nodded at her belt, and Barbara put a hand on it questioningly. He shook his head when she went to grab her batarangs, and nodded when she grabbed her grappling gun.

It took her less than thirty seconds to understand. Batgirl hooked the grappling gun around the man's foot, and it was secured tightly. Once he was sure that it wasn't coming off, Nightwing let go of the man.

He quickly snatched the grappling gun from Barbara. "Sorry."

Stopping it, he felt the a jerk on the line as the man halted suddenly, and all three of them peered over the side to see the man dangling a few stories above the pavement, looking out towards the harbor. Dick retracted the grappling gun quickly, and within seconds, the man was dragged back over the ledge of the roof screaming by Nightwing and Batgirl.

 _"Are you willing to reconsider your answer?"_ Nightwing asked crisply.

The man seemed to have forgotten that they didn't kill people. He was afraid. He rattled off the time - late at night, ten o'clock - with a few more curses, his bottom lip wobbling the whole time as he told them it was happening in an abandoned office building on the outskirts of Gotham.

 _"Thank you,_ " Nightwing replied honestly.

The look he received in return told him the guy would prefer it if Nightwing dropped dead. Well, he wasn't alone.

 _"You, you will speak to the police, yes?_ " The man asked gruffly.

 _"Name?"_ Nightwing asked.

 _"Henry,"_ Henry stuttered out, " _"It's Henry."_

Nightwing nodded. He knocked the guy out with a swift punch. Batgirl shook her head. He looked up at her as he got out zip ties and zip tied Henry's wrists and ankles.

"What?" He blinked.

"Nothing," Barbara snorted. "It's just, you speak Hungarian. I didn't know that."

He grinned. "I am a man of many talents."

"Oh, really," Barbara said dubiously, "How come you speak Hungarian?"

"How come your Hungarian isn't better?" Dick asked, and hid his smirk when she sighed, crossing her arms.

"I picked it up a while ago," he told her truthfully.

"Forget that," Steph said, recovering her ability to speak, "That was awesome!"

Spoiler jumped up and fist pumped the air, and Dick chuckled.

"Thanks," he said, "I try."

"I mean," Steph continued, "I've seen Batman do some interrogations before but not you."

Barbara covered her mouth to hide her smile. Dick would've glared at her lightly if his attention wasn't on Steph.

He paused. "Okay?"

"Wicked," Steph's blue eyes twinkled merrily, and Dick wasn't sure if he should be afraid or not.

Ignoring it for now, he asked her, "So wanna do another team up at the meeting tomorrow"

Steph shrugged. "Sure. You coming, BG?"

He looked towards her hoping the expression on his face wasn't too hopeful.

"Someone has to keep you in line," Batgirl replied.

Nightwing smirked. "Excellent. Sounds like fun."

"I know, right?" Steph smirked mischievously. "Girl's night out."

His own smirk fell off his face. Batgirl cackled.

"Hey!"

* * *

The next day he was sitting in his apartment, Dick stared at the phone in his hand as it rang. He ran a hand through his too long, uneven hair. He could've called Wally. Dammit, he should've called Wally. But hadn't Wally mentioned doing something with Bart? Mentor-protégé bonding and stuff. Anyways, he'd probably be out as Flash right, or at work. At least, those were the excuses Dick told himself as he called Barbara.

Dick waited three rings before Barbara answered her phone.

 _"Dick? What?"_

It wasn't the most friendly greeting, but it was probably the one he deserved. He hadn't had the chance to really talk to her since dinner with the Gordons, having only seen her a little bit last night as Nightwing and Batgirl, but he had meant it when Dick said he wanted his friend back.

"Hey, Babs," Dick said, "Look, I know this is out of the blue, but Damian reminded me yesterday and I can't exactly go to the hairdresser because of the stitches and I honestly think it wouldn't end well if I tried to cut me own hair," oh God he was rambling. Dick took a breath. "Look - can you cut my hair?"

The response wasn't what he expected.

 _"Oh hell yes. About time,"_ Barbara breathed a sigh of relief, _"I don't like the mullet."_

Dick raised an eyebrow. His hair was relatively short for him right now in comparison to how long it's been, the problem was that it was uneven and generally stuck up all over the place, giving him a slightly crazed appearance.

 _"I thought you'd never cut it. Steph owes me ten bucks,"_ Barbara muttered to herself, as if she forgot Dick was still on the phone.

Unexpectedly, Dick found himself laughing. He remembered before the whole Strange incident when Barbara had threatened to shave his head if he didn't get a haircut after. He hadn't thought his hair was that bad, to be honest, it was longer on the top and shorter on the sides. In the time that had elapsed since then his hair had become a black mop on his head.

"Great," Dick smiled, even though she couldn't see him. "What time?"

 _"I'm at work right now, but I get off at six. Come at seven."_

Dick didn't bother asking how or why she was on her phone at work. Anyone trained by Batman was sneaky enough to manage it.

He waited a moment for her to hang up, and when she didn't, that was when he put his foot in his mouth.

Dick asked, "Do you want to patrol together? We could catch up."

 _"I . . . I don't know. Aren't we going to see each other tonight?"_

He didn't need her to explain that she was still getting used to this, being friends, after years of hating him or loving him, usually both at the same time. One extreme to the truce they had was comfortable, and neither of them were willing to break it. It was easy for him to read between the lines. She needed time to adjust.

Dick really should've called Wally.

"Okay, uh, yeah," he said quickly, "I'll just come over, then. At seven. We'll meet up with Spoiler."

 _"She could come over,"_ Barbara suggested, her voice humorous when she added, _"And help me cut your hair."_

Dick had a horrifying, brief mental image of himself with a Mohawk.

"Uh, no," he squeaked out, "That's fine."

 _"See you then,"_ Barbara told him, cackling.

Dick listened to her hang up, and his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. He stared at his phone and then put it back on the table carefully, almost like it would explode.

* * *

"Stop that," Batgirl scolded.

He sheepishly stopped running a hand over his hair. "Sorry, it's just, different."

Spoiler swung onto the roof, rolling to bleed off excess energy before she stood up. The whites of her mask widened when she saw Nightwing.

"Whoa!"

Batgirl smirked. "Whoa, indeed. Pay up later."

"Pay up - ?" Steph groaned. "Ah, shit!"

He coughed, trying to hide his grin. It didn't take the three of them long to make it to the outskirts of Gotham. All they had left to do was wait. It didn't take long. Watching through the windows, Nightwing caught glimpses of two men talking back of forth, haggling the price of the large stash of cocaine. One held a package in his hand and was gesturing wildly. The stake out was boring.

The fight was fun. It was unchecked punches and batarangs flying through the air. Batgirl, Spoiler, and him crashed the deal in the office building, making quite the entrance by crashing through the windows of the old office buildings. He worked with Batgirl and Spoiler easily, the three of them working around and with each. When Nightwing tossed a charging thug away, Spoiler was there to knock out the guy with a punch.

When Batgirl got caught with a baseball bat in the stomach, Steph had her back. Batgirl, in turn, save Nightwing when another man pulled a gun intending to shoot the masked vigilante from behind. He nodded thankfully towards Batgirl. Hearing a yell from behind him, he turned. Nightwing easily dodged the charging man, using the thug's own momentum to easily push him into the filing cabinets.

He stepped back as the thug lay on the ground groaning in pain. Nightwing looked around, checking for more opponents, and found there was none. Men dressed in dark clothes lay on the dirty concrete, some knocked out, and some barely conscious. In the darkness of the night, it was hard to make out their figures. He quickly got out some zip ties and began tying the men up, dragging them over to the center of the room. Batgirl and Spoiler had the same idea, and soon the three of them were done.

The office building smelled like dust and mildew. Sadly, Dick was able to say he'd been in places that smelled worse, so it didn't particularly bother him.

"Was that really necessary?" Spoiler asked.

He glanced over at the doorway, where she stood leaning against the frame, her arms crossed.

Nightwing shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He finished his last zip tie, and looked around to check. Batgirl didn't say anything, but she looked like she privately agreed with Steph.

She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the filing cabinet thug. "You could've just punched him. You didn't really have to shove him into the filing cabinet."

He noticed for the first time the look on her face, like someone who had just made an uncomfortable realization and wasn't sure what to do about it. The lump in his throat made it suddenly difficult to swallow. Batgirl and Spoiler watched him.

"I'll send him an apology card when he's in jail," Nightwing said, smiling slightly to reassure her. He looked at Batgirl too, and she nodded.

It worked. The corners of her lips quirked up.

Spoiler said, "Might as well send him an apology card for putting him in prison while you're at it."

Dick smiled. That was why he liked Steph. She knew how to joke. The other Bats were all justice, no fun. Though he was pretty sure he was successfully converting Damian onto the fun side.

Barbara rolled her eyes. She asked, "Has anyone called the cops yet?"

Nightwing looked at Spoiler and Spoiler looked at Nightwing. He shrugged and she threw her hands up.

"And this," Batgirl smirked, her hands going to her communicator, "is why you need me."

* * *

He headed over to the Cave because Wally complained that he was lonely. Really, Wally was a grown man. Sometimes his best friend was absolutely ridiculous.

"You know," Dick called out into the Cave, "I do have a life."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, strolling into the living room area. The redheaded figure on the couch, looking quite comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and green hoodie, waved his hand in a I-could-care-less gesture. Wally twisted around awkwardly to look at Dick, about to say something but then pausing as his mind adjusted to the change in appearance.

"Finally got a haircut?" Wally inquired from his spot in front of the TV, grinning. He didn't look like he was getting up any time soon. "Bart mentioned something about winning a bet in the Titans."

He really didn't get why this was such a big deal. He crossed his arms over his black t-shirt and he blue collared shirt he was wearing over it.

"Very funny," Dick rolled his eyes. Self-consciously, he ran a hand through her black hair. "And yes, I got a haircut."

Wally only needed to hear his voice to know Dick was uncomfortable. He looked over again, and his mind paused, because the haircut Dick had was eerily familiar. Short in the back and sides, and an unruly mop of black hair on the top. He didn't comment on the style.

Instead, Wally blurted out, "Why'd you get so much cut off?"

Dick shrugged. "She needed to make it even. I needed a haircut, anyways. Any longer and I'd need to put it in a ponytail. Damian threatened to put Nair in my shampoo if that happened."

Not quite true, but the joke helped to lighten the mood.

Wally snickered. "Oh man, remember that one time we put Nair in Ollie's shampoo?"

"Dinah laughed so hard she couldn't breathe," Dick recalled.

He smiled a bit at the memory.

"That was great," Wally said wistfully.

Dick frowned when something clicked into place.

"Bart bet on when I'd cut my hair?"

Wally smirked. "Oh yeah," he said, "There was this massive betting pool. A few Leaguers even joined in."

He sighed, a familiar, long-suffering sigh that Wally was well acquainted with.

"Tell me you didn't," Dick said flatly.

He didn't know why he even bothered asking. He already knew the answer.

"Now, really man, does betting on when you would cut that shaggy mop you call hair sound like me?" Wally asked innocently.

Dick gave his friend a look. "Yes."

"No trust at all," Wally shook his head, "And you've known me how long?"

That was actually exactly why Dick knew Wally would totally do something like this.

"Wally," Dick asked, "Did you bet on when I'd get a haircut?"

"C'mon, Dick," Wally paused dramatically, grinning and utterly pleased with himself as he informed Dick, "I started the betting pool."

Exasperated, Dick half-sighed, half-groaned, "WALLY!"

He tried not to smile, because that would only encourage Wally. Of course his friend would be the one who had started the betting pool.

"What?"

Wally wasn't able to keep the grin off his face as he laughed loudly. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache.

"Honestly," Wally continued, "I'm surprised you didn't find out."

Dick was too. Batman would be shaking his head and crossing his arms.

"I haven't been around the Tower too much," he admitted, "I should go visit." Mostly to himself, he mused, "Donna will drag my ass out there soon enough anyways."

Wally chuckled. "I like Donna."

He looked at his friend incredulously.

"She slapped you the last time she saw you," Dick pointed out.

"Nonsense," Wally dismissed, "She probably misses me. Donna has been deprived of my presence for far too long."

"I'm sure she isn't too broken up about that," Dick muttered.

"I'll come with you," Wally said brightly. "We should go later this week. Maybe Friday?"

Dick briefly thought about entering Titan's Tower with Flash. He shuddered.

Wally slung an arm around Dick's shoulder. "It'll be fun."

Famous last words.

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 **I actually had a lot of fun writing parts of this chapter. Hope you like it. As for the lack of chapter title last chapter and this one, I honestly couldn't think of one, but I still wanted to post it. Virtual gold star to whoever thinks of one. Thanks for bearing with me and being patient. Ooh, I almost forgot to tell you guys, I've mentioned the Strange incident a few times, and I want to know how many of you are curious about it.**

 **I have most of it written, I just need to finish it. I'm debating between posting it as a one-shot connected to this, or as an interlude here. I'm probably going to make it an interlude, but let me know what you guys think. If it becomes an interlude, however, I'll be posting a chapter up with it, though I have a chunk of next chapter done. Just a heads up of what might come.**

 **Review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

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Nightwing didn't say a word when he heard the barely-there noise of someone trained in stealth by Batman landing on the roof top. The sound of the footfalls told him who it was, and he didn't feel like turning around and acknowledging the presence. That might scare his company off, and well, Dick had been getting a little bored. Slow crime nights were nice, but if he was patrolling alone, it was just him and his thoughts.

Dick was still quiet when Red Hood sat next to him. Jason took off his helmet and ran a hand through his dark hair with a loud sigh. He was content to sit, if silence was what Jason needed. The man sat next to him without pulling out his gun, calling him a nickname, or insulting him. Dick counted that as a win in his book.

Jason rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I wish I could shoot you."

Well. That was one way to start a conversation.

Dick loosed a breath. "You wouldn't be the first."

Jason grunted, muttering a few words that sounded suspiciously like, _I'm not surprised._

He glanced at Jason and smiled reassuringly, frowning when he saw the dark circles underneath Jason's green eyes. A shadow seemed to cover the younger man's face, and Dick wondered what Jason had gotten himself into this time. Years of reading people had taught him enough to know that whatever it was, Jason was bothered by it, and this was the same man who attempted to blow up Black Mask. On his best day, Jason's mood was questionable.

Privately, Dick always worried about him. He often wondered if Jason was happy, and if Jason knew that Dick wasn't going to give up on him. For all his anger, all his vicious swearing and name calling and shooting and Kori and Roy, there were times where Dick would find Jason standing on a rooftop, smoking a cigarette, looking like he wanted to talk but not knowing for the world where he should begin.

"So," Dick asked, his masked eyes focused on the city sprawling below them, "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Heard you got a haircut," Jason reasoned, "I had to see how bad it is."

Dick snorted. "It's not that bad, is it?"

He felt Jason eye his hair critically. The wind ruffled his dark hair gently, and Dick turned to see Jason smirking at him almost sadly. He tolled his eyes, trying to stop the smile on his lips.

"Nah," Jason shrugged, "Just different."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, "It is."

There was something about getting along with any of his 'siblings' that always made Dick ridiculously happy, leaving him with a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest. He was afraid smiling would let Jason know this and scare the poor guy off. Oh, gosh, Dick was such a sap. Suppressing another smile, Dick absently tapped out a song on his thighs. Jason gave him a sideways look, but let it go.

The two of them were content to sit for a little, neither one of them caring how much time was passing. He knew it couldn't go on forever. Dick stopped humming and tapping.

"So," he exhaled, "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Jason fidgeted uncomfortably, his shoulders tensing and his hand repeatedly making a fist then unclenching.

"Though it was a nice night to swing by Bludhaven," Jason said nonchalantly, "See what you're up to."

"Nothing much," Dick shrugged, "Had a Molotov cocktail thrown at me yesterday."

That had been a terrifying experience in a relatively normal day of police work. Dick and his partner Amy had to serve a warrant. He hadn't been expecting a Molotov cocktail to be thrown at him. Amy, his partner, had snapped at him to keep it together, and he was chasing the perp out the fire escape soon after that.

The whole city felt restless. Uneasy. Which never bode well for poor, hardworking vigilantes like himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen.

"Oh?" Jason snorted, "What'd you do?"

Dick gave him his best, _who, me?_ look. It made Jason bark out a short laugh. He grinned, pleased with himself, and watched Jason shake his head.

"Gotham's been restless," Jason said shortly, "Something's probably going to happen soon. Just making sure we'll be able to call you when it happens."

He was able to hear the unspoken, _and to make sure you're okay._ Jason did care, Dick thought, trying to suppress a smirk. He just had roundabout ways of doing it. Jason was more likely to call you a dumbass if you got hurt than hug you. Dick would know. He'd been called a fair number of names by Jason in the past. Most of it had probably been out of concern.

Most.

"Plus with the breakout at Arkham last weak . . ." Dick ran a hand through his hair. "You're probably right."

"Of course I am, Goldie," Jason answered cockily.

He put on his Red Hood helmet and stood up, offering a hand to Dick, who took it.

"Oh?" Dick asked, "Like that time you decided it was a perfect idea to play a prank on Alfred?"

It was a risky move, mentioning a memory from Jason's days at the Manor, which Jason usually avoided talking about like his life depended on it. Alfred was safe, though.

Jason winced. "Not my finest moment."

"No," Dick agreed, "It wasn't, but it might've been your funniest."

"Whatever," Jason waved a hand, "I should go."

He frowned. Jason wasn't looking away from Dick, which was hard to tell with the Red Hood helmet on, but Jason's uncomfortable-ness was back, giving Dick the distinct impression that Jason would like to get the hell out of here.

Dick told him, "Take care."

"Yes, ma'am," Red Hood mock saluted. He dug out his grappling gun.

"I mean it," Dick sighed, choosing to ignore the 'ma'am' comment. "Be safe."

He had the feeling he could tattoo those words on Jason's arm and the reckless idiot would still be a reckless idiot. Sometimes he felt like Jason didn't listen to him. Dick hesitated, before putting a hand on his shoulder.

Briefly, Jason looked like he was considering shooting him again, so Dick figured he better talk fast.

"I'm here," Dick blurted out, adding, "If you need to. You know. Talk."

It was difficult to see Jason's facial expression underneath the Red Hood helmet, but he still saw Jason's head tilt to the side considering his words. At first, he thought Jason wasn't going to say anything. The younger man turned away from Dick, and Dick let his hand fall off Jason's shoulder.

"Yeah," Jason stated, "I know."

Dick knew that was all he was going to get. That it was better, in fact, than what he expected. He nodded once, and Nightwing watched Red Hood grapple away. Shaking his head, Nightwing looked at the twinkling city lights one more time. He made a silent wish; that whatever came their way, they'd face it, together.

.

* * *

.

Dick dragged his feet passed his couch, yawning and wanting desperately to go back to sleep. But sadly or luckily, he had a life. His hair stuck up on one side, and he squinted at the sunlight in the kitchen. He fumbled with the cereal box for a minute before pulling the Captain Crunch off of the fridge. Making himself a bowl, the cereal crunched loudly in his mouth, and it helped wake him up. He leaned against the counter along the wall, careful not to hit his head on the cabinet above him.

Sweeping his blue eyes over the place, he chewed thoughtfully. The kitchen was generally a mess, crumbs and random dishes or boxes of food on the counter. His keys and badge were by his phone, which was charging on the counter. He paused when he saw the little figure sleeping on his couch. Dick knew who it was immediately.

Shrugging, Dick put his cereal on the counter and walked over to the couch stealthily. Or so he hoped. He didn't really do "stealthily" this late in the morning. Damian didn't notice, or he was pretending to be asleep. Noting the small twitch of the boy's lips trying to hide a grimace, Dick realized he was probably half-awake. There was an unexpected warmth in his chest when he realized Damian was humoring him and staying asleep.

He searched his living room for a moment, before Dick remembered that he actually cleaned yesterday, so he reached under the low coffee table for a blanket. As quietly as possible, he shook it out a bit so it wasn't folded anymore, and then he put the blanket on Damian with a soft, fond smile. The blanket was this old blue quilt, a gift from Alfred when he was new to the Manor and shortly after Dick became Robin. It was one of the first things he packed when he moved.

Damian stirred, but he refused to open his eyes. Instead, the son of Batman just clutched the blanket tighter around him and snuggled into it. Dick smirked a little, resisting the urge to coo or pinch Damian's cheeks because he needed his hands to punch criminals. Glancing at Damian, he hurriedly grabbed his phone from where it was charging on the counter. He snapped a picture. Damian muttered something which sounded like yet another sleepy death threat, but Dick wasn't too concerned.

Damian grumpily sat up, blanket still clutched around him, and peered up at his eldest brother with suspiciously red eyes. His hair stuck up in the way that it looked like someone had smacked the side of his head. Privately, Dick thought Damian looked horrible, and he frowned. Dick ran a hand through his hair, still clutching his phone.

"That better not have been a picture, Grayson," Damian muttered groggily. He sniffled.

Still fighting off a slight cold from his trip to the sewers, then. Dick tried to figure out whether or not Damian lost weight. What was the fight about this time? Maybe Alfred would tell him, if Dick called and offered to come over for tea.

He feigned innocence. "I would never. And if I did take said pictures, they may or may not have already been sent to Alfred."

Damian snorted, a grudging smile on his face, and Dick grinned triumphantly. The kid needed to smile more, before his face froze in a scowl. Even if Tim would enjoy that.

"Don't gloat, Grayson, it is not a look you wear well."

His grin turned into a frown, and Dick stuck out his tongue at his little brother. Damian rolled his eyes with a huge yawn.

"Hey, I gotta get ready for work, kiddo," Dick explained. He ignored Damian's (strangely weak) protests that he wasn't a kiddo. He asked, "Sure you'll be all right here?"

Damian gave Dick a look as if asking the acrobat if he had forgotten who Damian was. Dick chuckled and held up his hands.

"Just checking," he grinned, before turning serious once more. "So, yeah. Don't open the door to strangers, lock the doors, please do not bring any stray cats home, don't burn my apartment down, you know where the food is – "

"Grayson, please," Damian scoffed. "I received this speech of yours before. I assure you I am perfectly capable of being home alone."

He knew that, but it didn't sit well with him, leaving someone alone.

"Good," Dick nodded, "But you know I worry."

The boy bit his lip, hesitating like he wanted to tell him something, and gratitude briefly flashed onto his face. Sometimes, Damian looked as if it meant the world to him that Dick cared about him enough to worry. He wondered how anyone could have put the thought that no one should care and no one will care about him into Damian's head.

He squashed the urge to hug Damian out of respect for the boy's personal space. His fingers tapped out a pattern on his leg. Dick tried to suppress his worry, but he wondered what the fight between Bruce and Damian was about. It was a too common occurrence lately, and Damian usually ended up at Dick's place. Damian had to open up in his own time, or Damian would clam up and Dick knew this so he kept his mouth shut.

Having been there, he could respect Damian's lack of desire to talk about it. He'd had his own fair share of fights with Bruce.

But it didn't make the waiting any easier, or his worry go away.

"Very well," Damian continued, and in an instant the vulnerability that was there was gone. He sounded resigned to his older brother's fussing.

"Bye, Dami," Dick ruffled Damian's hair before he could swat his hand away. "Get some sleep, you look tired."

Damian huffed. "Have a very wonderful day. Maybe your partner will run you over."

"Sarcasm," Dick noted proudly, "Good, you're learning."

"You're insufferable," Damian snorted. He paused, before adding stiffly, "Grayson, I would like to thank you for . . ."

Damian struggled to either say the words or find them to adequately describe how grateful he was for his older brother's open door policy. There was something comforting in the knowledge that when everything was going to hell around him, this place was still standing, a calm spot in the storm. Was there a way to put into the words that even when everything else was uncertain, Damian knew he had this place?

Dick smiled. "It's okay, little D. I get it."

He watched the ex-assassin as he relaxed, sinking back into the couch. Just like that, the moment of vulnerability was gone. Dick both celebrated and mourned the moments where Damian opened up to him. Celebrated, because it meant Damian trusted him enough to talk about this. Mourned, because Damian immediately put his walls back up out of habit.

Damian said stiffly, "I supposed you need to go to work."

"That would be good," Dick agreed. He ruffled Damian's hair. "Take care."

.

* * *

.

"You're five minutes late," Dick chided as Wally skidded to a stop in front of him.

He started to walk to the entrance of the zeta platform in the Watchtower. In the lower level of Titan Tower, there was a Zeta platform, which meant that Dick would not have to piggy back on Wally to get a ride to Titan's Tower.

"Bah," Wally waved gloved hand, tugging on his cowl to make sure it was in place. "I've got super speed."

"Unfortunately, you don't have common sense," Dick muttered.

Wally narrowed his eyes. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Dick said, the whites of his mask widening innocently. He hid his smirk as he entered the location into the Zeta platform.

There was a brief flash of light, and then they were both standing on another Zeta platform in Titan Tower. He hasn't been here in such a long time. It almost made him pause, but Dick shook it off. He watched with unconcealed amusement as Wally rolled his own eyes.

"Did you tell Donna we're coming for a visit?" Wally queried.

"Yes," Dick winced, then said hopefully, "She sounded calm on the phone."

He hadn't seen Donna Troy for a long time, but it sounded like she was doing just fine from what he'd heard from Tim and the news. Donna had taken over the Titans after Dick had left, making vast improvements that Dick never would've even thought of. She still kept the giant "T" shape of the Tower. Perhaps out of nostalgia, or as a joke. Donna had a strange sense of humor sometimes.

"Sounded," Wally repeated skeptically as the pair walked towards the door.

"She said she'd meet us," Dick offered, still holding out to the faint hope that maybe Donna wouldn't cause him bodily harm. Not that he wouldn't deserve it for disappearing on her.

Dick shrugged skeptically. He hoped to maybe pick up some of the stuff in his room. Maybe swing by and check up on Beast Boy, if the green shape shifter was in. He should probably see Cyborg and Raven, too. Any plans fled from his mind as soon as he saw who was waiting for them on the other side of the door, and had to fight the urge to spin on his heel and run away.

Leaning on the wall across from it, arms crossed and an entirely unimpressed look on her face, was Donna Troy.

The woman was shorter than both of them, wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt, yet she was easily scarier than any supervillain Dick had the displeasure of facing. He'd happily go a few rounds with Killer Croc than face an angry Donna Troy. Her black hair was down and her blue eyes were blazing. She looked well, and if there were shadows under her eyes, well, that was just his imagination.

Wasn't it?

Since there was no sewers, no Gotham, and no Killer Croc nearby, Dick was left with the option of running or facing her. The look in her eyes that practically dared him to try running made Dick think better of it. He wouldn't get very far, and it would give Donna the excuse she was looking for to punch him. She still might punch him anyways.

"Hey, Donna," he said quietly. Meekly.

No sudden moves, Dick told himself.

She glared at him, as if him saying hello was an insult. Donna exhaled loudly and tugged a hand through her dark hair.

"Four months," she said icily, "Four months, and nothing. Heard you got injured."

Her blue eyes softened a little as she focused on his head wound, which was mostly healed by now. The stitches had been taken off a couple days ago and his hair covered the scar, even with the new hair cut. The scar itself wasn't particularly nasty, and it was faded, but if Dick ran his fingers over it carefully he could feel the raised skin where it was.

"Uh," he said intelligently, "Yeah?"

She stared at him for several long moments, her hand still in her dark hair, looking him up and down as if checking for more injuries. Donna bit her lip and looked away, her arm falling back to her side.

This man was ridiculous. How had she dealt with him for so long?

"Do you know how worried we were?" Donna asked quietly, "The only reason I didn't check on you myself is because Tim said you would be alright."

She told herself she would give him space, so space she had given up. The space was mostly for herself, Donna could admit, because she knew she'd punch him if she saw him right away. Donna had been hoping Dick would let her know he was breathing, walking, and fighting himself, but apparently that had been too much to hope for. Tim's update, a couple lines stating that Dick had been injured, detailing the how and where and then stating Dick would be okay had left her tense for days, on the edge of her seat.

For a very long time, Donna has both been waiting for and dreading the day when someone would tell her Dick Grayson was dead. It was a truth that she knew she would never tell anyone, and one that she was ashamed of.

Donna has known the little shit for a long time, since they were young teens, thanks to Wonder Women, Donna's sister. She's worried about him since she watched the kid jump off a building with a devil-may-care grin, never mind the fact that he was only a year or two younger. Throughout the years, she's seen each obstacle life has thrown at him, and wondered. She's seen how his smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore.

And it has scared the hell out of her.

"Donna," Dick murmured guiltily.

She shook her head, silently asking him not to speak, and pushed off the wall to pull him into a quick hug. Donna held him tightly, silently asking that he would be alright. She didn't think they could lose him. They pulled apart, and Donna squeezed his shoulder tightly.

Then she punched his arm.

Dick winced and rubbed his arm. "Okay, I deserved that."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "You think?"

He smirked. She rolled her eyes.

"Well," Wally interjected awkwardly from where he'd been hanging back, "This has been touching."

The speedster was smirking wickedly. Dick pulled a face at his friend, who continued smirking. He allowed himself to enjoy this, the light, easy feeling with which the three of them interacted. If the Team had existed for a little longer, Donna might've joined it. Every now and then, a stray comment Donna from Donna made him suspect that maybe Diana had told her about them. Still, he never asked.

Donna narrowed her eyes at the speedster.

"I thought I told you," she pointed a finger at him, "That you weren't allowed back here after you ate everything in our fridge and Bart attempted to murder you with the saucepan."

There was a story there, and Dick was sorry to say that he had not been able to witness it himself but instead heard it second hand. He grinned, unashamedly enjoying this, and Donna shot him a dirty look.

"Really?" Wally asked, tilting his head. His eyebrows pulled together in a confused expression. "All's I heard was don't come back here."

Donna looked like she was contemplating murder, and because the press would have field day with that, Dick stepped in.

"On that note," he said quickly, "Why don't we go find some of the others?"

Donna frowned at him. He smiled weakly at her. She snorted in amusement, looking at him critically. Briefly, he wondered what she was thinking, then decided that perhaps it was better if he didn't know.

"Beast Boy would probably like to see you," Donna conceded. She jerked her thumb at Wally. "He can leave."

"Hey!" Wally whined. The redheaded man crossed his arms.

It was hard not to smile.

Dick thought about it. "Bart's not here, is he?"

"You're supposed to be on my side!" Wally protested.

"No," Donna sighed, looking disappointed she didn't have an excuse to toss Wally out.

"Then he's with me," Dick said, "C'mon, Donna. Just this once."

"It's never 'just this once'," Donna disagreed.

He held her gaze as best he could with a mask over his eyes.

She relented. "Fine, but he's your responsibility."

"I am not a dog," Wally hissed indignantly.

"Sure," Dick nodded, continuing to ignore Wally. His lips twitched from the effort it took not to smile.

Donna wasn't even trying to be discreet. She was smirking openly.

"Then let's go, 'Wing," she said easily.

She began to walk down the hallway to the elevator that would take them to the upper levels of the Tower with Nightwing and Flash following. The elevator slid open after she pressed the button, and the three of them stepped inside.

"Cyborg's around somewhere," Donna commented, "I think he'd like to see you too. Red Robin's not here, and neither is Bart, but they might be by later."

Dick nodded, all of that making sense. The friction between Wally and Bart concerned it - how bad was it? - but at the moment, he was having _fun._ Now was not that time for serious conversations when he felt more carefree than he had a while. Visiting Titan's Tower was a good idea, even if he had to face Donna before he got to see the others. The worst part was over, he hoped.

"I'm getting you both back for this," Wally swore.

Donna looked back at Wally with an evil glint in her eyes that said she'd like to have him try. Dick didn't bother to respond, instead watching the interaction between the two of them with a laugh. The redhead pretended to take a large step backwards, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

His laughter echoed in the elevator, and Donna's look softened.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Okay, so, this chapter was difficult to write because I had so much I wanted to put in this chapter, and I was nervous about writing Donna. How did I do with her? She's not a character I'm too familiar with but I really wanted to write her in this story. If it's not clear already, I'm screwing with timelines so I hope that's been going okay. I can't really judge because I'm the writer and not the reader.**

 **I'm really sorry for the long wait on the update. I've been really busy, but I should have some more free time now than I did. This year is important for me school-wise, so I'm sorry, but I have to focus on that and writing sometimes takes a backseat. I'm trying my best.**

 **I really wanted to include all the other Titans in this chapter, but it was starting to get a little long and I was forced to edit a lot out into the next chapter and other chapters. So I'm sorry, some of you seemed excited about the Titans interacting with Dick and Wally, but that's not the way this chapter worked out. I promise the Titans will interact with them in future chapters, and I'm thinking of continuing the visit next chapter. Maybe.**

 **I'm taking the scenic route to the plot stuff, but well, I said this story would be long. I'm trying not to go too fast. I swear there is a plot. Thank you for being patient with me.**

 **I love you all. Seriously. Thanks for your support!**


	11. Chapter 11

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

.

* * *

.

Knocking the two of them out with one of the pans on the stove was an increasingly appealing idea, but Donna refrained. Mostly because she wasn't sure if Wally had any more brain cells to lose, even if sometimes it felt like he needed a good hit upside the head. Dick probably didn't need any more hits to the head. As it was, the sources of her frequent headaches were debating on the best ways to talk to Tim and Bart.

Wally had suggested kidnapping Tim but Donna shot that idea down, and Dick suggested baking with Bart which Donna also shot down immediately. Especially after she had the mental image of the Titan's kitchen blackened and burned pop up. She almost regretted asking them to stay the night, and had buried her head in her arms in a futile attempt to get more sleep at the kitchen table.

But it was with a fond smile that she listened to their banter.

"I'm telling you, man, movie night!" Wally argued.

It was the first idea she heard that didn't involve kidnapping someone and knocking them out, or baking. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

Donna didn't lift her head up, so her voice was muffled when she chimed in, "That's actually not a horrible idea."

Dick must've pulled a face, because Wally snickered.

Then, Dick told them, "I'd have to get him to agree to it first. And the other two might get upset if it's just me and him."

"They would?" Wally asked, clearly thinking of all the times Jason threatened to shoot him and Damian threatened to disembowel him. With a few choice expletives thrown in.

"Yes," Dick said with certainty, "They're both big softies."

Donna snorted.

"You, shush," Dick pointed the plastic spatula at her, then he used it to stir the scrambled eggs.

"Are they done yet?" Wally asked hopefully. His stomach growled as he looked longingly at the eggs and bacon.

Donna and Dick rolled their eyes.

"Yes," Dick scowled when Wally tried to snatch some bacon straight from the pan. "Now go get plates, and I'll check on the bacon."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Wally saluted, which somehow looked more ridiculous in the pink flannel pants and light pink shirt that Wally wore with pride.

Apparently, that was the only other set of PJs that Dick had in the Tower, a gag gift from Beast Boy and Cyborg one year. Dick himself was wearing an outfit similar to Wally's, only his were purple flannel pants with a light purple shirt. His Nightwing mask didn't match the outfit at all, but he was still wearing it. Both of them looked ridiculous. Donna had very sensibly worn grey sweatpants and an old red shirt.

She stood up and went to the counter, watching as Wally took out plates and forks. Dick checked on the coffee that had been brewing next to the stove, and made a pleased noise when it was done.

Within moments, everything was out, and Dick was setting the pans of eggs and bacon on the counter. Since he was familiar with Wally's appetite, Wally had his own large pan of eggs and bacon. Dick and Donna split the other pan. Donna's mouth watered at the smell of food, and she gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Dick, who held up his own in acknowledgement. The three of them must've looked strange, sitting around the breakfast table together.

"So," Dick said around a forkful of eggs, "Back to the little birds. Couldn't I just teach Tim to hack the Pentagon?"

She fought the urge to smack him upside the head. Donna was fairly certain they were supposed to uphold the law, not break it.

"Dude, c'mon," Wally swallowed a large bite of food, "He probably did that already."

Donna wrinkled her nose. "I'm going to have to pretend I didn't hear that. Hacking a government agency is generally frowned upon."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Like you haven't broken into - "

She pointed her fork at him threateningly. "We don't talk about that."

"Of course," Dick took a sip of his coffee. "Silly me."

Wally smirked and shoveled some eggs into his mouth. Wisely, he didn't ask, but that was mostly because the sugar sweet smile Donna gave him made him think better of it. So he kept quiet and ate his breakfast like a good little speedster. In spite of that, Donna frowned at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Wally stuck his tongue out at her, and Dick high-fived him.

"Why'd you two come over here," she asked, seemingly annoyed, but the smile on her face gave her away.

She grabbed her coffee again, needing far more caffeine then she'd had so far to deal with these two this early in the morning.

"I thought you missed me," Dick pointed out, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.

"Missed you," Donna grumbled. "Ha, sure. More like I missed seeing you leave."

Dick choked on his eggs.

.

* * *

.

Dick stood on the roof of Wayne Manor a good distance away from Damian, who was sitting on the edge of the roof. Alfred had called this time. He'd been in the middle of heating up dinner in the microwave, but Alfred had called, and Damian needed him. He shivered, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black winter jacket. He could see his breath in the night air.

"You know," Dick mused, "I used to always come up here when I was younger to think."

High places had always helped him think.

"I don't care," Damian hissed venomously.

Dick knew better. He knew the kid was lashing out, that he was hurting and frustrated and alone. He knew that all too well, and he wanted to punch whoever had told this boy that no one would ever care for him.

"Maybe," he agreed, being careful to keep his voice neutral. Patient. "But I thought you'd like to hear that anyways."

Dick stood there calmly. He was perfectly content up on the roof. It was quiet on the roof except for the wind, which was relaxing to listen to. Standing there behind Damian, it vaguely reminded Dick of all the times he had gone to the roof when he was younger, and Alfred or Bruce had stood with him. It was his turn now. He'd stand here with Damian to let him know that he wasn't alone, like Bruce and Alfred had done for him.

Cautiously, Dick started to approach the edge of the roof and sat down with his legs dangling over the side. Damian kept one eye on him, but Dick didn't care. He sat with a relaxed, carefree manner which led Damian to believe Dick hadn't been lying when he said he used to come up here. Damian crinkled his nose as Dick scooted over until he was sitting next to him. Damian leaned as far away as possible from the insufferable idiot without scooting over.

He wondered what good this impossible man saw in the world after facing some of the worst people in this world. Damian tried to find out, but at times he couldn't understand.

In a quiet voice, Damian asked, "What superpower do you wish you had?"

He looked down at Damian, wondering where the question came from, but nonetheless he answered.

Dick smiled a little nostalgically. "I always wanted to fly."

Damian rolled his eyes, huffing, obviously having expected this answer.

"Well why'd you ask if you knew what I was going to say?" Dick retorted, and to his delight Damian looked briefly abashed.

"I," Damian scowled, "I don't have to answer that."

"You know," Dick said with sly look, "Superman was my favorite hero, because he could fly."

The face Damian made caused Dick to laugh, which lit up his face, and the wide grin Dick had made Damian feel just a little bit better.

"But I have to admit," Dick continued, "I've learned to love falling too."

A soft smile graced the acrobat's features as he looked out across the grounds, towards the woods and the fire pit he could see by the edge of it. The wind ruffled his hair and the cold air stung his lungs, but it was refreshing. He felt alive. Damian unconsciously leaned into Dick's side, seeking shelter from the wind and warmth. The poor kid wasn't even wearing a coat. Slowly, Dick wrapped his arm around Damian and tucked the smaller boy into his side.

.

* * *

.

"Cass?" Nightwing was surprised, not expecting to see Black Bat in his hideout. "What?"

Cassandra Cain was not a member of the Bats who frequently visited him, but Dick saw her occasionally. He just wasn't expecting to see her now. She threw him a sideways glance that told him he was an idiot, before turning back to his computer. He rolled his at her, and caught the quirk of her lips before she turned her head to hide it.

"Everyone is in the Batcave," Cass stated, her displeasure evident in the crease in her brow and the small frown on her face.

Dick grimaced as he thought about that. He cared about his family, he really did, but all of them together could be a bit much. For anyone.

"It is quiet here, and I needed to give you that." Cass jerked her head to a small, wrapped package beside her.

Well, he couldn't exactly blame her for coming for the quiet. Maybe that meant she wanted to visit him, too. He curiously eyed the package, which was flat, small, and rectangular. It was wrapped in smiley face wrapping paper, which made his lips quirk up into an almost smile, until he thought more about why Cass had come.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Are Damian and Bruce fighting again?"

Cass didn't answer, but instead she looked at him as if to say, _what do you think?_

He smiled lopsidedly and shrugged. He could hope. That wasn't too much to ask for.

She snorted. "Strange."

"Not the first time I've heard that," Dick said immediately. It won't be the last. He remembered blonde hair and grey eyes.

He stopped himself from wincing, and rubbed his chest, as if he was soothing an old ache. If Cass noticed, she was respected him enough not to say anything. That was part of the reason Cass was awesome. She didn't feel the need to pry. Oh, sure, she'd call him out on his bullshit, but Cass understood when he didn't want to explain why because there were moments when she didn't want to explain why either.

He walked over to the small kitchenette, tossing his mask and gloves on the floor, pretending he hadn't noticed the small noise of disapproval made by Cass. He yawned widely and pointedly, and she rolled her eyes. He huffed a soft laugh.

It was far too early in the morning to stop his wayward family members from killing each other with ninja swords and guns and words. He patted himself on the back for his forethought when he walked over to the tiny mini-kitchen, which blessedly had a microwave and a coffee maker, and more microwave mac n' cheese than was healthy. The coffee maker had been a gag gift from Alfred one Christmas, and it was easily one of his most treasured possessions. Little yellow Bat stickers had been stuck on the side by Tim and there were pink princess crown stickers stuck on it by Damian.

Naturally, Dick adored it.

He dug out a mug from one of the cupboards to brew coffee, briefly checking if the pot was clean, and thanking his luck when it was. It was far too early in the morning to do dishes, too. He dug some mugs out the cabinet, pausing and turning to Cass. She remained deep in concentration at the computer, and he wondered just what was so interesting.

Nevertheless, he held up the chipped yellow mug. "Do you want some?"

She gave no indication that she heard him, and he waited patiently for her to respond. Cass thought about it, before giving him a short nod. Knowing that was all the answer he was going to get, Dick started brewing the coffee. The low growl of the coffee maker was the only sound in the room, and he didn't feel the need to speak. He suspected that with Cass sometimes she only wanted to be in the company of people who didn't expect anything, including a conversation. He could relate. It was peaceful, knowing someone was nearby.

When he was younger, Bruce would sit with Dick for hours after he had a nightmare, until the sun came up and the shadows in his room had disappeared.

He felt the same way around Wally, who knew when he needed to talk, when he didn't want to, and when to just be there. That was the benefit of knowing someone for years. Leaning against the counter, he watched the coffee brew. His stomach growled and Dick wondered if he should dig out one of the microwaveable mac n' cheese cups. When the coffee was done, he poured two mugs of coffee and silently offered one to Cass. She took it and sipped.

Dick took a sip of one of his own, and then winced when he burned his tongue, quickly pulling the cup away from his lips. He waited impatiently for his coffee to cool, while Cass drank hers without a second thought and he watched enviously. Her eyes flickered side-to-side as she read the file. He caught a glimpse of what Cass was checking, and to his surprise he thought it was his own. Before he could be sure, Cass closed the file and logged out.

"I'm going," Cass said simply. She set her empty mug down, and nodded at him in gratitude.

Or, well, he liked to think that it was gratitude, a thank you for the coffee and for letting her have a few moments here. Who knew? With Cass, the nod could also be a subtle way of flipping him off and telling him his coffee was horrid. Jason complained about it enough, and so did Damian. He still nodded back at her.

Cass quickly pulled up her cowl mask and walked to her motorcycle, which Dick belatedly noticed was parked in front of the tunnel that was the exit for when he was riding his own motorcycle. He walked forward and set his mug beside hers. Cass waited and stood in front of her motorcycle.

"Take care of yourself," Cass said simply. This was a goodbye and it was a remainder. It was likely the only one he'd get from her. She wasn't one for sentiment.

"Come back anytime," Dick offered, "I still need to have you and Damian watch some more Disney movie. Steph can come over, too."

Cass, he knew, was a little more reclusive than the other Bats, but she still belonged with them. Dick hoped she knew that. She was wary of people, but she'd come to accept his bizarre tendencies. He'd introduced her to some Disney movies and iconic cartoons like Scooby Doo before, much like he had done with Damian. He almost smiled when he recalled Damian's various reactions and running commentary to different Disney movies.

She nodded shortly, and smoothly got onto her motorcycle. Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "Perhaps."

Dick walked back to the computer, wondering if he could bring up the files she was checking, but when he tried, he found she wiped the memory.

"Clever," he murmured, and his eyes strayed to the wrapped present lying innocently next to the mugs.

Dick reached for it, and he tore the wrapping paper off, a small note fluttering to the floor, to reveal a framed photo of four very familiar people. Himself, Damian, Tim, and Jason. Or, more accurately considering they were dressed in their gear: Nightwing, Red Hood, Robin, and Red Robin. He realized that this must've been taken last week when all of them were eating ice cream after spying the containers and spoons in their hands. He laughed a little out loud at that, and the sound was almost too loud in the quiet. Dick grinned so widely that he felt his cheeks hurt. He definitely owed Cass a thank you. Apparently she'd come for more than the quiet.

He grabbed the note off the floor, and when he checked it, he caught Steph's messy handwriting, which read: _Thought you might like this! Think of it as an early X-mas gift!_

He felt like dancing in place. It looked like he owed Steph a thank you, too. He wanted to show this to Barbara. She'd laugh at him and call him a dork, but Dick wanted to hang this photo on the wall. He began to look around, trying to decide where to put the photo. It took him a few moments, but finally he left it by the computer, risking the wrath of Jason and Damian if they saw it.

Dick didn't really care. He wanted to take it of the frame and put it in his wallet, but it would be a little hard to explain why he had it if someone saw it. It was too big to fit in his wallet anyways, unless he folded it. The photo meant more to him than he could put into words. He was touched that Cass and Steph gave him this, even if Damian and Jason wouldn't exactly return the sentiment if they knew.

There was always the chance that they would surprise him. They liked to do that every now and then. It drove him up the wall. Jason, Damian, and Tim were difficult sometimes. Well, admittedly, most of the time. It was hard to get them into the same room without an argument of some form happening. Physically, or verbally. Dick wasn't exactly innocent either, he had his fair share of arguments with all of them.

They drove him crazy. They weren't perfect.

Be that as it may, he'd rather be with them than without them.

Because at the end of the day, they were his brothers, his family, his responsibility, a source of his annoyance, people that he loved dearly and would protect fiercely.

He knew he was grinning like a loon, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he looked at the photo one more time. It showed the four of them sitting on that rooftop last week, eating ice cream, and he had to admire whoever took the photo. It was most likely Steph had something to do with it, because of the note, but he'd wager that Cass also had something to do with it.

Dick shook his head in disbelief. The four of them, together, on that roof. Eating ice cream. Talking. It was something he'd like to happen again, and wasn't sure if it would.

He could admit that sometimes he felt like he was done with being the good brother, the good son, and the times where they tried his patience so much it felt like he didn't have any left. He was tempted to pull out his hair and throw a tantrum more often than not. Then he'd keep going, because of moments like this, evidence of it captured in a simple photograph taken by Cass and Steph.

Dick fought tooth and nail for those rooftop moments. It was those moments which made it all worth it.

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Hands loose at his sides and a pair of comfortable, worn jeans on, he strolled into the Manor. Dick found himself spending more time here lately, usually acting as a buffer between Bruce and Damian. Dick saved Damian the trouble of going to Bludhaven, at least, if he was here. It wasn't horrible, despite the fact that everyone in this house avoided talking about feelings like the plague. And the fact that at some point, most of the people in this house have nearly killed each other on at least one separate occasion.

Wayne Manor felt like home, as if the place was welcoming him back. He knew all sorts of nooks and crannies in it, having explored the Manor from the roof to the Batcave. He never knew who he would run into here, which might be the best part about coming. Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Alfred lived in the Manor fulltime, though Bruce was at work or in the Batcave most of the time. And Tim and Damian were either ignoring each other's existence, bickering, or trying various, creative ways to murder each other.

Dick should find that horrible, but at this point, it was a fact of life that wasn't changing any time soon. No one had ended up seriously injured in the hospital for a few months. Unfortunately, Damian had taken inspiration from the _Home Alone_ movies after Dick insisted on watching them last Christmas, and there had been an unfortunate incident where Tim had an armful of tools dropped on his head.

Dick hadn't even known they'd _had_ that many tools, since Bruce wasn't exactly Mr. Fix-It. He shook his head, fondly remembering the subsequent headache.

Tim had sworn that he under no circumstances would he be coming to Christmas this year, planning to spend it with the Titans, but Dick liked to think he was lying. After all, Tim was still coming to Thanksgiving, which meant there was a good chance he was still coming to Christmas.

Making for the kitchen, Dick made to walk through the living room when he caught a glimpse of blonde hair on the couch.

"Steph?"

Dick stared at the hunched figure sitting on the edge of the couch. He walked around the couch until he was standing in front of her, and that was when he noticed she looked like someone kicked a puppy. Part of him wondered if he walked in on something private, but she looked so miserable, and he didn't want to leave her. Dick had spent enough time dealing with his problems alone to know it helped when someone was there. He knelt down in front of her slowly.

She glanced up at him. "Go away," Steph mumbled.

She rubbed her eyes, attempting to hide the tears, before sighing heavily. She gave up and pulled her knees tighter to her chest, staring at a spot just beyond him.

"What's wrong?" Dick tried asking softly, even though people seldom gave a straight answer to that in this family.

"Nothing," Steph said, now eyeing him warily, like she was deciding if it was worth telling him. If he would care.

It made him want to scream with frustration, or perhaps bundle her in blankets and give her a hug. He wasn't sure which.

He did his best to appear non-threatening, his shoulders slumping and his hands open, held in front of him as if to soothe a frightened animal. Dick could kill a man with his bare hands, but he did his best to appear like the man who couldn't even make a batch of cookies without burning some (all) of them.

(Alfred had chased him out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon for that one. In his opinion, Dick felt the fire hadn't been _that_ bad.)

"Steph," Dick admonished, "You know you can tell me."

 _Please, tell me,_ his blue eyes pleaded, _you can trust me._

He looked remarkably like a kicked puppy. In that moment, she understood what Babs was talking about when she reference the Puppy Dog Eyes, and she genuinely wanted to hate Dick Grayson.

"Yeah," the blonde admitted grudgingly. "I know."

He wondered what happened. Most likely, it was something with Tim. Though Tim never said anything, Dick knew there was something there with Tim and Steph. He wasn't entirely oblivious.

Thoughtfully, he said, "Do you want to talk to Alfred?"

There was a crease between his eyebrows, and he was frowning now. Steph thought it looked odd on his normally smiling face. She did her best to frown right back at him, attempting to channel Barbara. He gave her a knowing look, and Steph looked away. What part of she didn't want to talk about it did he not understand? Bruce wouldn't conversations about _feelings_ with a ten-foot pole. Couldn't Dick be like that, just this once?

The unspoken, _it's not good to bottle up your emotions,_ went between them. As arguably two of the Bats freest with expressing genuine emotion in front of other people, they knew this pretty well. Repressing emotions led to nasty arguments and broken bones and gunshot wounds. All those fun things.

Steph's mouth curled into a semi-smirk, _you would know that better than anyone._

Oh, she didn't know the half of it.

Dick gave a half-smirk back, _if you say so_ , before his expression turned serious again.

"Nah," Steph bit her lip, "I'll - I'll tell you. It's nothing big," she said hastily, "Tim's just being an emotionally constipated ass."

There was a significant amount of emphasis on the last words, and Dick blinked. He could have sworn that he'd heard Bruce called that once or twice.

Her mouth clicked shut and she bit her lip as if she hadn't meant to say that. Steph knew how much Dick cared for his little brothers, but what Dick hoped Steph understood was that she was part of the family too.

So he smiled softly, and said, "Timmy, huh? Someday he'll figure out. Maybe I could talk to him?"

Talking to Tim might make the situation worse, honestly. This was something Tim and Steph had to work out themselves, so he hoped she said no. Wistfully, he remembered being young and in love . . . Oh God, Dick was starting to sound like an old man. He banished the thought before it could fully form, focusing instead on the situation in front of him.

Steph smiled gratefully, and shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

He inwardly cheered that he could avoid that particular conversation.

"Want to go see if we can't steal some of Alfred's cookies?" Dick suggested. He could smell them from here.

"Hell yes," Steph agreed. "We can get Cass to help us."

Dick raised an eyebrow. He wasn't too surprised, because Steph and Cass had become fast friends, despite their different personalities.

Sheepishly, Steph admitted, "She's in the kitchen with Alfred. I'm supposed to be choosing a movie."

"Well, then," Dick offered, "How 'bout I choose? Alfred loves me. He won't kick me out."

She rolled her eyes and nodded, knowing he probably told Alfred he was coming over.

Dick pointedly didn't look at the dark TV screen. He grabbed the remote, turned the TV on, and flicked the channel to the DVR, before selecting the first _Lord of the Rings_ movies from the movie rack beside the TV. He didn't need her to put it into words why the screen was dark and Cass had taken a bit to get back. It was implied that Cass saw Steph and Tim's talk – confrontation, and Dick understood this. He suspected that Steph had run off to breakdown alone. He was more than familiar with that particular habit.

He waited for the commercials to roll by.

"We should," Dick said at last, then paused. "get Cass to steal some cookies for us, that is. Alfie can join us, too. He loves these movies."

Steph's shoulders slumped with relief that he wasn't going to press the topic. "We probably don't stand a chance without her. Alfred might give us more cookies, too, if he watches it with us."

"Now you're thinking," he praised her, and smiled. It reached his eyes.

Steph smiled back, albeit a little watery.

"CASS!" Dick bellowed, running into the kitchen, "ALFRED!"

With a snort, Steph followed.

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 **Sorry for the late update, but things got really busy. So, yeah, see any mistakes, have any questions, let me know. I was going to have more Titan's in here, but that'll probably happen after the next chapter, which should be fun. I'm really enjoying writing this.**


	12. Chapter 12

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

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 _"Didn't you know? Nobody likes it when the strong one breaks. When you're everyone's therapist, you're not allowed to make mistakes." – Erin Van Vuren_

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Wally stomped his feet in an effort to get warm, and as someone who had a higher body heat thanks to super speed, he couldn't understand how Dick was perfectly fine stomping around in the woods.

"Can we go inside?" Wally pleaded.

Dick sighed.

"Wolf's gotta be close," he argued, "We can't just stop now."

"Dick," Wally explained gently, "It's been ages since we heard that howl."

"Yeah, but we heard it," Dick said defensively.

"We don't even know if Wolf will want to see us," Wally crossed his arms, taking his hands out of the pocket of his large maroon hoodie.

A reasonable statement, given everything.

"Wally," Dick said, "Please." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have to know."

They owed it to Wolf, and to the half-Kryptonian who'd cared fiercely about him.

He couldn't look Wally in the eyes, but he felt him assessing Dick. The fight drained out of Wally, who leaned heavily on a nearby aged. He looked far older than he was.

Both of them _felt_ far older than they were. In many ways, they were.

"I know," Wally said sincerely, looking at him with tired green eyes. "I know. But, Dick . . ."

"We still got some time," Dick insisted, even as he fought back a yawn.

"Wolf . . . Wolf's waited this long." Hesitantly, Wally placed a hand on Dick's shoulder. "We know he's alive, but we're not doing him or ourselves a favor right now. We're more likely to trip over a tree root and break our necks and then where would we be?"

"A hospital?" Dick muttered rebelliously. His blue eyes flickered back to their surroundings as he watched the trees for any sign of movement.

"Smartass," Wally snorted. He dragged a hand through his red hair, which only made it stick up further.

Dick rolled his eyes and corrected Wally, "I think you mean dumbass."

Dick shoved his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. Wally had a point. He was currently running on willpower and caffeine and stubbornness and guilt. But didn't want to leave Wolf. He couldn't, which, Dick reflected bitterly, was ironic. Because at one point he did. He left Wolf behind, and Conner wouldn't have been very happy with them. It was possible that all these years alone, Wolf had gone feral.

Because they had left Wolf behind.

He had his doubts, however, because Wolf had been enhanced, and with that came increased intelligence. He'd let so many people down. He'd let Wolf and Sphere and even the Bioship down, which sat silent and still in the hanger. He had let the memory of his friends, team, _family_ down by failing to honor their memory.

With a voice that held no enthusiasm, Dick murmured, "Maybe we should go back."

Wally clapped his hands, and the sound startled him.

"Whew," Wally announced loudly, and it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence, "I'm tired. And hungry. Did I mention that I'm tired? Not that I don't want to look for Wolf," Wally added hastily, "But, uh, I don't think doing it on an empty stomach is really the best idea . . ."

Rambling, Wally was rambling, which he only did when he was really nervous. Dick put a hand over his face. He wasn't sure when Wally noticed that look on his face, but when he did, he stopped talking. When had they lost the ability to talk to each other? His frowned deeply, and the dark look on his face was not missed by Wally.

"You should talk to someone," Wally suggested hesitantly, looking away. Because he who was he to stand here, and tell Dick to talk to someone when Wally refused to talk to anyone himself?

It was destroying Dick, both of them, from the inside, and Wally had clearly noted the way the circles under Dick's eyes grew, and the shadow on his face when Dick thought no one was looking. Lately, Dick had been looking worse and worse. Wally, if he were honest with himself, wasn't looking much better either.

Dick brushed aside the concern with a puzzled frown. "Uh, I got you."

"That's," Wally started, then frowned. "Okay, you're right, but you know what I meant. You need other people."

Dick started walking back towards the Mountain, and did his best to be hard of hearing. He shrugged, hoping that would put Wally off the topic. Perhaps it made him a terrible friend, but as they walked, he hoped desperately that Wally would trip over a tree root, but he'd never been that lucky. His hands remained clenched into loose fists in the pocket of his hoodie, and for a few long moments there was nothing but the crunch of leaves and sticks.

"What about the Titans?" Wally pressed. "You've known them long enough. They deserve to know."

"Wally," he warned, because he couldn't deal with this right now. He didn't want or need the lecture, because all of it was what his own conscience had been telling him for years now.

Yet each time he tried, he couldn't find what he wanted to say. He couldn't sum up the Team and what they'd shared in a few short sentences. Nor did he want to. Beyond telling each other good night and a few curses when Wally tripped over a tree root, they didn't talk much the rest of the way back.

Neither of them knew where to start.

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"You look like you're about to lose your shit," Wally frowned.

"Thanks," Dick deadpanned. Dark circles were under his eyes from lack of sleep and he wanted to tell the world to go away. He tried not to glare at Wally for the comment. "You don't look too good either."

"Bart's giving me trouble," Wally shook his head, "That kid, I swear."

"Think of it as Karma for everything you did," Dick suggested, his voice having more of a bite to it than he intended. He internally winced, and dragged a hand through his hair.

Wally's eyes narrowed. "Thanks. Something wrong?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Everything's, everything's fine."

Physically exhausting and emotionally draining, but those were minor details.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Wally asked in concern.

"Dunno," Dick muttered, having a vague memory of maybe eating cereal in the morning. Or was that last morning? The days blended together sometimes.

"You want to talk?" Wally offered, sounding more like a demand, an unspoken, _you need to talk to someone please talk to me why won't you talk to me._

"I'm fine."

"That has so many different meanings it's not even funny," Wally was scowling now, and uh oh, Dick thought, that wasn't good. "I swear, I'll slap you if you say that word one more time."

He wished he cared more about that, because he knew Wally was right. He should care, right? He should, because getting slapped would not be fun. His stomach however was growling and he thought longingly of the food in the fridge.

When he didn't respond to what Wally said, Wally frowned in concern.

"Dick," Wally started, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder.

Dick neatly sidestepped the hand, and shook his head in acceptance.

"I know," he tried to stay reassuringly, "It's, it's Damian. There was - there was a kid."

"Oh," Wally's face fell, "Oh."

"He thinks," Dick shook his head. "Shit, Wally, he's . . . do you remember the first time you saw someone die?"

"Yes," Wally said immediately. He sighed. "I thought my mom and my Aunt Iris were going to murder Uncle Barry and bury him in the backyard."

"What do you know about him?" Dick asked abruptly, "About Damian?"

"I know that he was trained as an assassin," Wally answered easily, "I know that he's Batman's son, that he's nicknamed _Demon_ and _Hellspawn._ Cheerful crap like that."

Wally paused thoughtfully, and Dick waited patiently. Waited for more.

"I know that he's just a kid," Wally finished, "And that for all his creative threats of murder, his heart is in the right place."

"Yeah," Dick nodded, smiling proudly, "He's a good kid."

"He'll be okay," Wally tried to reassure his friend, "He's got you."

Dick wasn't sure that was a good.

"I just," Dick sighed, "This isn't something I ever wanted him to deal with."

"No one ever said this life is an easy one," Wally pointed out, "You know that."

Both of them knew that. Firsthand. The painful absences around them were proof of that. So were the scars on their bodies.

"Remember, I'm here," Wally gestured to himself, "You need to talk to someone. I'll even babysit your brothers for you if you need a free day."

They were back to this. Dick wanted to roll his eyes, or maybe hit his head against the wall. He wasn't sure Damian and Wally were ready to meet one another. He couldn't help but be grateful to his friend.

"I know, Wally, okay?" He told him, "I know."

They've got each others' backs.

"Remember," Wally said, green eyes unusually serious, "You and me are supposed to play Uno next Friday."

The words were completely at odds with the grave expression on Wally's face, and it took him a moment to comprehend what Wally said in the tone of voice normally used for talking about a bank account. Dick raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

He cracked a reluctant grin. "Really?"

"This is serious," Wally insisted, not quite managing to keep the smile off of his face. "We're playing for Alfred's cookies."

"Well, I'll let Alfred know you missed him," Dick snorted.

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* * *

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His headache was getting worse by the hour.

It was Halloween Night, because of course it was, and it was _not_ the time for this. Because Scarecrow was on the loose with delusions of spreading fear gas to the citizens off Gotham, since apparently giving out candy on Halloween was much too cliché. Unfortunately, no one had told Robin and Red Robin that.

Nightwing scowled at the bickering pair. "Uh, guys?"

Robin and Red Robin didn't seem to notice. They looked ready to battle to the death, and Dick idly thought that dramatic music should be playing in the background. Wasn't there always dramatic music in showdowns? He shook his head.

Focus, Grayson. No matter how anxiety inducing the image of Damian and Tim swinging axes at each other and out for blood was. Especially since given they're track, it was still plausible.

"Hey!?" He tried again, trying to draw their attention to him. "Guys!"

Dick seriously considered waving his arms about like he was trying to fly.

They were supposed to be looking for Scarecrow, who'd decided that Halloween was the perfect time breakout of Arkham.

Because Halloween and fear gas and scarecrows. Get it? Halloween? Scarecrows?

By Batman's cape, he needed sleep.

Dick wanted to find the escaped convict so that he could punch him the face himself. He was looking forward to Uno with Wally, dammit. Alfred's cookies were on the line.

At this point, Dick was willing to personally upgrade Arkham's security system himself, if only so it meant he wouldn't miss Uno night. Wally was going to be pissed. He'd also been really hoping to get some sleep. Unfortunately, sleep was out of the question when Bruce comm'd for him.

Nightwing could've refused, of course, but.

The idea that Scarecrow was out unnerved him. He didn't want Damian getting hit with the fear gas. He didn't want any of them to get hit with it. It wasn't something that was one of his Top Ten favorite experiences. It wasn't an experience that you forgot. If he could save Damian for that and protect him from it for as long as he could, then he would try.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as a chill went down his spine. They were running out of time. From what Bruce had told him, Scarecrow before his capture had been working on a new formula that would render the current fear gas antidote useless.

"HEY!" Nightwing shouted, louder this time and forcefully.

The two sneered at each other before looking at him, and he struggled with the strong urge to knock their heads together. He reminded himself that neither of them were very pleasant when they were injured.

Nightwing jerked his head towards the other side of the roof. "We need to go."

He started walking away as confidently as he could, not looking book to see if they were following them but trusting that they would.

If only to stop Nightwing from getting into trouble, of course.

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Bruce narrowed down Scarecrow down to an office building, and Dick stared up at it apprehensively. The idea behind the plan was simple. 1) Enter building. 2) Find bombs to release Fear Gas. 3) Disarm them, and detach the fear gas canister. 4) Rescue hostages.

A simple enough plan, Dick reflected, so of course it went to shit. As had many plans before in his life. This just wasn't his night. Someone up above had it out for him.

"Spoiler," Nightwing called over his comm. unit, "You got the hostages out?"

"Roger, roger," Spoiler said, "Your bombs disarmed?"

"Yeah, all six," Nightwing answered. "Where's Batman and Robin?"

Batman's boxers, it still felt weird asking that question, even if it'd been years since he was Robin.

"They found Scarecrow," Spoiler paused thoughtfully. "Something about the roof?"

Villains. Always with the theatrics. Something in Dick could almost admire that. He shook his head with a slow smirk.

"Understood. Red Robin, report," Nightwing said.

"I disarmed the other five," Red Robin responded, voice clipped. "Working on the sixth one now, little tied up with some uninvited guests at the moment. Shouldn't take long. Canisters are both off."

Thirteen bombs, Dick mused thoughtfully, and it was a Friday. All with their own fear gas canister rigged to disperse when the bomb went off.

"Need help?" Spoiler asked, trying and failing to keep the worry out of her voice. "I can always circle back 'round after dropping these guys with Gordon, Batman and Damian mentioned another bomb on the roof . . ."

It must've been buy one, get one free day at the Evil Supply Store.

Dick regretted not paying enough attention, because he almost ran straight into two goons dousing the hallway with gasoline, and oh boy, Jason would never let him live that down. They froze when they saw him. Nightwing smiled and waved halfheartedly.

"Negative, I'm good," Tim grunted, the wondered aloud, "Is that a flamethrower?" A curse and a scuffle later, "Guys, they're setting the building on fire."

"You don't say," Nightwing said dryly over the communicator, as he ducked and rolled to the side to avoid the flames coming for him. "I've got company, give me a sec."

The gas caught fire quickly, and Dick coughed as the smoke started to fill the air. Thankfully his mask protected his eyes. He easily kicked a gun out of the hand of one man, but not before it fired, and he grimaced at the loud bang of the gun. It took less than a second to flip the guy and the wind was knocked out of him.

Gritting his teeth Nightwing punched the idiot waving the flame thrower around, who was trying to set fire to as much of the area they were in as possible after deciding he couldn't beat Nightwing. He knocked him into the man already on the ground. Nightwing frowned, they barely put up a fight.

He coughed as the smoke started to fill the hallway, and the heat from the fire felt like it was burning his face.

"What are the chances," Dick asked, panting and covering his hand as the smoke thickened, "That they've got orders to set this place on fire if the bombs don't blow?"

He cursed as the flames started spreading quickly. Detaching the flamethrower from the guy, Dick hoisted him over his shoulder. He grunted at the strain on his back, because he was honestly getting for too old for this. Nightwing grabbed the dazed guy trying to use the wall to stand by the scruff of his neck.

"Get out of here," he tried to shout, but it came it as a wheeze in between coughs.

The three of them started running awkwardly.

"Pretty high," Tim answered the question, and Nightwing wanted to tell him no shit. He refrained, mostly because he was too busy coughing.

"Nightwing, Red Robin, get out." Spoiler said, sounding worried.

"I'm trying," Nightwing said, he voice strained. "I've got some new friends."

They made it to the lobby. He shoved the dazed guy to the ground and tried to comm. Tim, the unconscious man still on his back.

"Red Robin!" Nightwing shouted, "Come in, Red Robin!"

For one moment, there was nothing, and it absolutely terrified him. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the pit in his stomach and the thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the time that Tim didn't respond.

"Shit!" Tim said over the communicator, and maybe he's been spending too much time with Jason, but Dick was just glad to hear his voice. "I'm," Tim coughed, "Fine! The bomb on the roof, Batman - !"

"I know, get out of there," Nightwing ordered, his mouth dry. "Get everyone out, now! And put your gas mask on!"

He hoped Robin and Batman were safe. When this was over, he was going to ask Bruce what the hell happened.

"On it," Tim said, and he sounded off.

The change in his voice was slight, and Dick narrowed his eyes even if Tim couldn't see him. Tim was injured and the little shit wasn't saying anything.

"They can take care of themselves," Nightwing interrupted, "Get out."

Tim didn't say anything else, and he choked back his rising panic.

"Spoiler," Nightwing started to ask, but Steph, bless her, answered quickly.

"Police line was moved back and gas masks were handed out, most civilians are far behind the police line. All hostages are receiving medical treatment," Spoiler told him, "I'm out. Nightwing, take your own advice and haul ass."

"Yes, ma'am," Nightwing answered, and started towards the doors. He froze when he noticed the vents.

The smoke hadn't reached the lower levels yet, but Dick was almost certain there was a suspicious looking gas seeping out of the vents. The man Dick was dragging turned pale, and his hands shook. The man tackled him, and Dick, unbalanced by the weight of the man he was carrying, slammed into the ground. The impact with the ground forced him to exhale sharply, and on relflex he took a breath.

Nightwing cursed.

If this was the thanks he got for hauling someone's ass out of a burning building (the one that their stupid asses set on fire in the first place) he was never saving anyone again.

He felt the moron's nose break when his fist slam into it, and Dick felt no guilt. After all, he was missing Uno.

On the ground, the man struggled away from Nightwing, his breath coming out in short, panicked gasps.

"No," he muttered, "I can't, no, not again. Not again! Please!"

Nightwing was fairly certain that he'd never met this man so he didn't see how this could be happening again, but he decided it might be prudent to keep quiet about that.

"Listen," he kept his voice calm,"Just breathe, okay? Breathe."

"I don't know?!" The man shouted, and yep, maybe Dick has met this man before. Probably took a cousin to Arkham because the crazy light in his eyes was familiar.

He inched closer and the man didn't move. Dick carefully controlled his breathing, not wanting to inhale more fear gas. Because that was what the gas coming from the vents was, and it was slowly getting harder to breathe and harder to breathe as the gas filled the room, like deadly fog. Shadows danced around him.

"Yes, you don't know. See," Nightwing ran forward. He held out his hands to his sides in a nonthreatening gesture, then Nightwing moved.

The thing about tackling someone mid-sentence: they usually didn't expect it.

The man had the wind knocked out of him, and he attempted to kick Nightwing, scrambling and howling, desperate to get away. It only took a second for Nightwing to punch his temple and the man went limp. He took zip ties out of his belt and quickly secured them around his wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees.

"Sorry," Dick told the unconscious guy.

Being tied up while experiencing fear gas wasn't fun, and Nightwing knew this. However, if he was tied up, the man had less of a chance of hurting himself. The current antidote that Nightwing had in his belt would be ineffective against the new strain Scarecrow had created specially for this.

His hands began to shake as he reached for the communicator.

"Spoiler," Nightwing said on the communicator, "You can't save me."

He meant to say that she couldn't save him, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. Breathing was getting harder.

"Nightwing?" Spoiler panicked, "Wait, what? Where are you?"

The shadows were getting closer now.

"Lobby, I think, still," Dick murmured, quietly.

"You're in the giant Death Cloud?" Spoiler shouted, "Shit! I thought you were getting outed?!"

He wanted to tell her he was going to, but then his new friend had other plans. He'd run out of time.

Everything was so loud.

So loud and bright and colorful and the noise just wouldn't stop. Nightwing pressed his head in between his knees.

The world wouldn't stop spinning. The blue and red lights of the cop cars flashed through the windows and the fog and he squeezed his eyes shut because it just wouldn't stop. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw a shadow, and his pulse shot up. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat and labored breathing.

He choked out, "Gas."

"Nightwing?" Two voices, Tim and Steph. Was that Bruce and Damian also?

"Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit," Steph swore profusely and creatively. "I'm coming for you. Hold on, dammit!"

He couldn't breathe. The shadows were getting closer. Nightwing didn't want to fight them. A cold sweat broke out across his body, and his hands just couldn't seem to stop shaking -

He couldn't breathe, now.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," he heard himself saying repeated, increasingly more panicked.

And oh God but his chest hurt, felt tight and constricting and he just wanted to breathe, was that too much to ask? People were around him now, too many people, and he could feel the scream caught in his throat because he couldn't breathe. They were all blurry shapes and they were everyone he could not save.

He couldn't breathe, could they not understand that?

It was getting harder and harder to see, and he could still hear himself saying that he's fine, repeating it like saying it enough times made it true. At some point he's dimly aware that someone is screaming, and that someone is him, but he can't seem to stop. There is nothing but his own fear and despair and guilt.

He doesn't remember much more after that.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Sorry for the late update, life was busy. Let me know what you think? I had to rewrite the ending a few different ways until I was satisfied with it. I knew how I wanted to end it, because this scene has been in my mind from when I first started this story. Sorry for any writing errors, I tried, but I have no beta. Let me know and I'll fix it. Thanks!**

 **The quote at the top and the song Timshel by Mumford & Sons was what really inspired this. **


	13. Interlude

**So this is an interlude and it's the whole Strange thing that took place before this story and was mentioned a few times in previous chapters. Sorry for any confusion.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

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There was a pounding in his head. His thoughts felt foggy, and he couldn't quite remember how he ended up here. He raised a gloved hand to his temple and Dick realized his Nightwing suit was on. For one panicked moment, he searched for his mask, then breathed a sigh of relief when it was around. Hauling himself up off the floor, he blinked at the dim light.

Nightwing stared blankly at the scene in front of him. Batman, Agent A, Fox, Leslie, Batgirl, Red Robin, Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Red Hood, were all in a semi-circle facing him, duct taped to chairs. He took a moment to marvel at the fact that someone had gotten all of them into the same were gagged, and none of them looked particularly happy about that.

They were all in uniforms, with Fox, Agent A, and Leslie being in their suit, butler suit, and doctors uniform respectively. Belatedly, he realized that unlike the others, he wasn't chained down. Dick looked at their surroundings. They were in a dimly lit warehouse. In front of him, a simple wooden table had a gun on it. Dick tried to remember how he got here. He knew that they had been going after Strange, but he had something planned, something about tests - or was it tasks? - they had to complete in order to get out of . . . something.

He winced when his head throbbed painfully, not appreciating his attempts at trying to remember. Judging by the pale, uneasy, and sick looks on the others' faces, they'd had to do something they didn't like either. But if they had passed the test, shouldn't they have woken up? A nagging suspicion was lurking in the back of his brain, something that told him something about this felt familiar. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

Was he even awake? The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd had previous experiences with mental simulations, none of them pleasant. Was this some final test? Something designed to rip them apart? To break them?

(He didn't know if they weren't already broken).

"Well, well. It looks like you have a choice to make, Nightwing," Strange jeered, and stepped out into the light.

Nightwing scowled at him, but found he couldn't move to take him down. His feet were glued to the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"It's simple." Strange gestured to the table with a wicked smile. "Too simple, really. I have deduced that the most effective way to destroy Batman would be to rip apart relations with his allies. What better way to do that then have one of his allies kill another, thereby separating the ties between his allies as well?"

He briefly, briefly wondered just what kind of drugs Arkham had this man on.

Dick considered telling Strange whatever he had planned, it probably wouldn't work. Maybe the man had finally lost whatever shred of sanity he possessed. Then again, the man was convinced that he was the one true Batman. Strange wasn't exactly sane to begin with. Attempting to reason with him wouldn't end well. Strange was smart, and he was deluded, and that was what made him dangerous.

"I debated on having Batman doing it, but in the end I choose you because you were his first Robin. I must admit, I have no small amount of hatred for you. I, the rightful Batman, do not need allies." His lips were curled into a sneer, and he looked genuinely disgusted at the thought of having allies, like someone told him all the coffee just ran out.

Dick crossed his arms. He thought about asking Hugo Strange to just get on with it. So many villains felt the need to explain. Really, in Dick's opinion, it messed up a lot of their plans. He didn't need them to justify their actions to him. If they felt the need to justify their actions, maybe they shouldn't do them.

"Fortunately, the allies this false Batman has gathered over the years will prove to be his downfall, allowing me to take my rightful place," Strange said this pleasantly, the sneer fading away to be replaced by a smug look.

The large man smoothed his hands over the front of the suit he was wearing, a far cry from the Arkham inmate outfits. His fixed his round glasses, apparently restless with glee. It creeped Dick out. He wanted to hop on the Nopeville Train located at Screw This Station.

Nightwing glanced at the others, who looked as frustrated as he felt.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, his mouth dry and his pulse starting to pick up.

Dick opened and closed his fist quickly, trying to get rid of his restless energy.

"It is simple, as I have told you. The only way you are getting out of here alive is if one of you does not make it out. You will pick up that gun, and you will shoot and kill one of the members of this so-called Bat Clan." Strange explained calmly.

Asking him to cut off his arm would've been easier.

Dick's eyes widened. "What about the whole completing-the-task thing and leaving?"

"Have you noticed you cannot tell the difference between what's real and not? Yes? Good. If you kill one of them, you will be able to leave. If you don't, you will stay here until you make a choice. Should you attempt to shoot me, you waste your one bullet and all of you will die," Strange calmly explained again.

He sounded like he was hoping for Option Two, which made Dick absolutely certain that was not the option he would be choosing out of spite alone. Past experience had also taught him that generally whatever the villain wanted you to do was Not Good.

Dick frowned. "I thought chance games were Dent's thing."

He needed a way out, they needed a way out, but he couldn't think of an immediate way out.

The reality of the situation sunk in. Dick faced the other Bats. He looked at each of them, and could see the horror and shock and silent plea in each of their eyes. Dick could read emotions well enough to know what they wanted to say, wanted to scream out loud. Bruce wanted Dick to kill him so that he would not have to lose the others. Bruce would sacrifice himself to protect the others. Dick had lost Bruce before. He couldn't lose him again.

And Dick couldn't pull the trigger if his life depended upon it. Not after everything the man had done for him. Alfred wanted Dick to choose him to protect the others. Dick couldn't shoot him. Alfred was practically his grandfather.

All of them were offering themselves to protect the other. Every single one of them.

If only they could see each other now, offering their lives to protect each other. All of them felt that none of the others cared for them, yet here they were, willing to give their lives to save the rest.

Dick's mind raced and he tugged a hand through his hair. He had to kill one of them, one of the Bats. One of the Bats . . . Wasn't he a Bat? A plan began to take shape in Dick's mind. It was risky and daring, downright stupid and reckless. But he would rather kill himself than kill one of them, the slim chance it's a mental simulation or not. Dick weighed it in his mind.

He could feel a fuzziness in the back of his head, like the world was on mute or he was hearing sounds underwater. He hadn't immediately seen his surroundings, and he couldn't even hear any back ground noises. Odd. There wasn't even any crickets or the sound of sirens. Or cars. Or people. Or the wind. And what else . . . His body felt fine. If Dick focused his memory, he took a few good hits going after Strange. He concentrated on the fuzziness, that nagging feeling of familiarity.

He could of sworn he felt the phantom sensation of wires on his forehead.

A voice snapped him out of it, but it was too late. The dots were starting to connect, the pieces adding up. Strange had singled Dick out, the one he believed the least capable of making the decision to kill one of the others to save the rest.

"Choose, or you all die," Strange sighed, as if he had much better things to be doing.

Loophole, Dick had to find a loophole. He'd always been talented at finding those. That, and pissing people off. Dick approached the table with a sense of purpose, and the disbelieving look on Strange's face smoothed over as soon as it appeared. He looked at the faces of the two people he called family. Bruce could have been carved from stone, and Damian was furious, snarling in place and tugging against his restraints.

Dick picked up the gun. It wasn't even cold, but if he thought hard enough, he could almost feel the weight. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small. He couldn't feel the metal of the gun, whether it was hot or cold. Dick couldn't seem to stop staring at it.

And he knew what he had to do.

Dick ignored the muffled cries of shock when he put the gun to his own head. The barrel dug into his temple lightly.

If it wasn't for the circumstances, the face Hugo Strange made would've been funny.

 _Screw you, Strange._

"I'm one of the Bats, aren't I?" Dick smirked.

 _Breathe,_ he told himself, far too aware of the way his heart ached, silently screaming in pain.

This was for his family, and he'd do anything for them.

Dick pulled the trigger.

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 _Inhale._

The next thing he was aware of was that he was not dead, and it felt like his brain was in a blender. He knew that he needed to remember something important, do something important, and Dick got the feeling he didn't have much time. He scrambled to remember, and sat up, trying to look around and take stock of his surroundings. His vison was blurry, his head pounded, and he was only dimly aware he was in a warehouse, and he nearly laughed hysterically because that wasn't very original.

 _Exhale._

He gasped for breathe, his vision going in and out of focus as he struggled to reorient himself. It was coming back, fragmented and scattered, but Nightwing remembered tracking down Strange with Batman and Robin, Damian snarkily replying to some remark he couldn't remember making, tracking down Strange - they were tracking down Strange, awkward interaction with Bruce as Dick and Damian mostly wandered off on their own until - nothing.

 _Inhale._

Fighting down his rising sense of panic and urgency, Dick came to the reasonable conclusion that they must've been taken. He had vague memories of a fight, and being drugged.

 _Exhale._

The grip on his arm was painfully tight, and Dick blindly tried to punch the person holding him, because the damn lights were still a little too bright. He failed when he was ripped off of the table and hit the ground hard. Dick attempted to stand, but someone kicked the back of his knees and then he was kneeling. His hands were held out to either side, and he struggled desperately. Damian was here, and while the kid sure as hell didn't need Dick looking after him in a fight it made Dick feel a whole lot better knowing he was there.

He opened his mouth to speak or scream, he wasn't sure which, but his tongue wasn't cooperating. All he could do groan inarticulately in pain and rage.

His head was yanked back as someone pulled his hair, and he let out a choked cry before he was looking down the barrel of a gun. Hugo Strange, snarl on his face and definitely not who Dick would've picked to murder him, was the one holding the gun.

This close, he wouldn't miss.

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When Damian saw Dick shoot himself in the head rather than kill anyone else, he was so pissed off he swore that he'd bring that idiotic man back to life so Damian could strangle him. Because Dick Grayson couldn't be dead. He was not allowed to die. Damian would not let him die. He found that he couldn't even make a sound. He couldn't scream, he could only stare, hoping that this nightmare was not reality because Dick Grayson was not dead.

 _Nononononononononono -_

The hiss Hugo Strange let out wasn't human, and Damian swore to himself that he would gut this man who believed himself to be the true Batman. Damian would tear out this man's heart, gleefully, and not feel a shred of remorse for it later.

As fast as it had happened, it took forever for everything to come apart.

Then, Damian woke up, his mind scrambling to catch up with the changes. It was clear that he was in a warehouse, and Damian would have sneered if he wasn't busy trying not to see two of everything. He fingers curled into fists, and Damian swore he'd gut those muggers who turned out to be Strange's henchmen. He'd beat them over the head and eviscerate them with the tranquilzer guns they used to knock him and Nightwing out.

Half-aware, nauseas, and snarling, Damian sat up spoiling for a fight.

He was on a metal table. The kind bodies were put on in a morgue. It was frigid, and Damian couldn't be sure how much time had passed. He looked to his left. His father was already getting up. Damian should be too, if his head would just stop pounding. He berated himself for taking so long. Then he remembered Nightwing. Panicked, Damian looked around, and saw Dick next to him. He tried to move, but his movements were sluggish, his thoughts were slow.

Whatever drug they had used to keep him under was strong, and it hadn't worn off yet. Two men were able to easily pin Damian down, which was insulting. He fought harder to be free, and his hands tangled in wires connected to his brain. Without thinking of the consequences, Damian yanked them off, and where was Dick, he had to know Dick was breathing. Damian didn't bother to hold back his punches, didn't both to hit only to incapacitate, wanting to hurt these men, and he noticed his father fighting against the ones who held him down.

At first, Damian thought that he was fighting too hard. Something seemed wrong. Damian thought that Batman had seen Dick, but his actions seemed too urgent, desperate to stop something. Robin looked over, and his own panicked fury spiked. Nightwing was being yanked off of the table next to Batman's and into a kneeling position. One of the other two men who were holding Nightwing yanked his head back by his long hair.

Through his blurry vision, Damian saw Strange put a gun to Dick's head.

Damian yelled, spitting curses and death threats. He fought even harder now, managing to send one of the men pinning him into the other. Their heads collided with a bang and they hit the floor, not making any moves to stand up.

 _Not in my reality,_ Damian thought furiously.

Terrified and angry, Damian tackled Strange, sending him flying back into a large machine bolted into the ground with wires connected to the tables running to it. When Strange hit it, sparks started to fly.

But it was too late. The gun went off. Fear and anger and no, no, no rose up in him threatening to overwhelm Damian when he saw Nightwing crumple. Blood began to pool, and it was hard to believe that only a few days ago this man was teaching him about s'mores.

Damian knelt beside Dick, and rationally he knew he should try and stop the bleeding. Rationally. But the little boy inside him wanted to curl up in a ball and Damian internally snarled at that boy. Strange was unconscious, the electricity or the impact knocking him out. Batman was next to Damian in the next second, the two of them working to save Dick, who was far too pale and still and bloody and oh God.

Oh God.

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Damian doesn't remember the frantic ride back to the Batcave. He doesn't remember holding bloody gauze to the wound on Dick's head in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, and checking for a pulse every few seconds. He doesn't remember Bruce calling Leslie asking that the doctor rush to the Batcave with her supplies immediately.

He doesn't. He refuses to.

"Damian! Find Alfred!" His father barked, practically flying out of the Batmobile around to Damian's side, gently lifting Dick out of the car and rushing to the Medbay.

He didn't try to fight his father on this, and he imagined that to Alfred he must have looked slightly crazed, blood on his Robin outfit and shaking with rage or fear. He looked distinctly out of place in the kitchen of Wayne Manor.

"Master Damian!" Alfred cried, looking alarmed. "My word, are you all right?"

Damian bit back a snarl or a sob, he wasn't sure which.

He said quickly, "Nightwing was shot, he's - "

He didn't even need to finish his sentence before Alfred was moving surprisingly fast down to the Batcave with a worried frown.

Damian was left standing alone, blood drying on his hands.

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Damian hadn't felt inclined to leave the large armchair in front of the Batcomputer after he showered to get rid of the blood and changed clothes. Not until someone told him that Dick Grayson would be fine. That he would live to laugh and ruffle Damian's hair another day. Dick's dark blue hoodie was far too big on him, but it was a comfort, so Damian kept it on.

He wondered briefly where his father had gone, then decided he didn't really care. Another part of him debated telling the others, but a different part of him rebelled. Why should they know? He asked himself this as he debated contacting them and lacked the energy to. It didn't seem important.

The only thing that seemed important at the moment was waiting for Leslie and Alfred to save Dick's life, so Damian could kill the insufferable idiot himself.

Hours passed. He wasn't sure what time it was, what day it was. Damian didn't feel hungry. He might've dosed off once or twice, but he'd jerked awake in a cold sweat after dreaming about attending Dick's funeral.

Footsteps on the stone and metal floor of the Batcave. The person dragged their feet and Damian knew they must be tired. Stiff and store, he moved from his curled up positon on the chair. He didn't dare breathe when he looked at Leslie and saw the blood on her glove-covered hands.

Leslie softened when she saw him. He looked a wreck, with his spiky black hair sticking up funnily on one side and wearing a sweatshirt too big with a pair of grey sweatpants.

"He pulled through," Leslie said gently.

Damian could finally breathe. His face crumpled a little bit with relief, and Leslie fought the urge to hug him.

"Alfred and I believe that he'll be up in a few hours," Leslie said. Softly but firmly, she told Damian, "Eat. Then get some rest. You know how Dick won't like it if he wakes up and you look half dead."

Damian nearly hissed, but he didn't have the energy too. He was drained. He just wanted to see Dick with his own eyes and know for sure that the acrobat was still breathing. Because he couldn't get that last image of Dick lying on the ground, blood pooling around him, out of his mind.

Reluctantly, Damian complied, if only because he knew Leslie was right.

After quickly forcing himself to eat a granola bar that tasted terrible and quick shower, Damian made his way down to the Medbay. He stopped in the doorway. His father was there, looking terrible and more vulnerable than Damian could ever remember him being, and so very far away from the terrifying, calculating Batman that Damian had been raised to admire.

Without a word, Damian pulled up a metal chair and sat beside his father. His eyes were focused on Dick, and he had to look away, because Dick was far too pale and far too still. Bandages were wrapped around his head, too white against the raven black hair which looked shorter than when he had last seen it.

Damian nearly jumped when an arm went around his shoulder, but after a moment he leaned into it.

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 **So, yeah, when I first started writing this story this is one of the earliest scenes that I wrote. It was meant to be in the second chapter of the story, but then I cut it out and decided that it occurred before the first chapter. Let me know what you think?**


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